


your heart is cold (but we will warm you)

by ApprenticeofDoyle



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, All hail Thrain Douche Under the Mountain, Alternate Universe, BAMF!Bilbo, Balin needs to chill, Bofur is a Sweetheart, Caretaker!Bilbo, Dwarfling Adorableness, Everyone Lives (mostly), F/M, Family, Gandalf Meddles, Gandalf is kind of a wizardy Godfather, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death(s), Protective Bilbo, Slow Burn, Thorin is a jealous overprotective twit, Young Bilbo, Young Thorin, apply ship goggles for Bilbo/Bofur, bagginshield, copious angst and fluff in equal measure, dwarflings, little fili and Kili, on hiatus sorry, seriously don't mess with his dwarflings bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApprenticeofDoyle/pseuds/ApprenticeofDoyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A grieving young hobbit finds two lost dwarflings in the middle of a dangerous thunderstorm and brings them into his home. Protecting them from dangerous dwarf mercenaries is one thing, but becoming the caretaker of two dwarfling princes is quite another, and in his struggle to get them safely home-- through the mountains and forests of Middle Earth, farther than he has ever gone before-- Bilbo Baggins finds his life irrevocably changed.</p><p>Will two lost dwarflings and their crude, princely uncle help his heart heal, or crush what remains of it to dust?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. drums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, salutations, welcome to the first large-scale fic I've ever had the heart to publish. This fic is unbeta'd, dangerously angsty and fluffy, and my first venture into the Hobbit fandom (research level=staggering), so I will use every excuse in the handbook for this puppy. I love all kinds of feedback, either optimistic or critical, and I welcome any response or discourse about my work with open arms. Feel free to point out mistakes, errors, or review (or tell me my writing's crap, bc, a little honesty is healthy sometimes).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not and will never own J.R.R. Tolkien's marvelous work or Jackson's characterizations, and thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Updates will be periodic (as this is a very very big WIP) but I won't set a schedule or limit because I'm way too random in grips of writing inspiration. I apologize to readers who expect prompt updates, but you will not find that in me (my life is way too busy lol), sorry!
> 
> enjoy

**your heart is cold (but we will warm you)**

**chapter one**

**drums**

 

The Fell Winter had been the worst storm to ever befall the Shire.

Like a thief in the night, ice had crept bitter and pale across every corner of the West. It stole across Hobbiton, sealing over smials with layers of frost, and deviled snow and wind followed behind: blankets of white, blizzard teeth. Everything once lush and green was chilled grey, stiffening up dead, and with the white flurries from the north had come _cold_ , bitter and crueler than anything the Shire had ever known. 

Fear came, too, as it was wont. Fear of starvation as crops withered, fear of the wolves that bayed at dusk, fear of the rumors-- whispers that Bree had been besieged by rogue Orcs crossing over the frozen Brandywine River, that the soldiers of the Enemy had been spotted near their outskirts. Hobbit bones grew stiff, bellies slowly emptied, and Shirelings wilted, dying flowers beneath their winter. Without the Rangers of the North and the grey wizard Gandalf, the many hobbit families that had graced starvation and sickness that winter may not have survived. So many, still, had not.

Bilbo remembered, even now, that wretched year when he could never be warm. The constant shivers, feeling so cold that he _hurt_ , blue-tipped ears and fingers pulsing-- when the air chilled enough he could see his breath cloud even in the embrace of his bed. Bungo and Belladonna had been adamant on keeping him trapped inside Bag End, refusing his every attempt to leave the warmth and safety of their home despite his smial-fever. They had known far better than he, but inside, all Bilbo could see was how afraid, how trapped, they were too.

Gloom and a reserved terror had taken the Shire in a hard, icy fist during the Fell. Hobbits had starved, weakened with fever, slipped into void in the snow-quiet nights. His father had been one to also fall ill, and it had been one of those moments, when Bungo had been slow to wake one frosty morning, that Bilbo had realized that they could die there. That he, his mother, and his father would not survive the ice and the hunger and cold, and that one day they could fall asleep in their beds and not wake again. A part of his innocence had died that day.

But he could never forget the how it felt, to be suffocating in his own home. The sickly feeling of being trapped, restless, _confined,_ that had braced in his limbs like a vice. That year he’d become just as quiet and miserable as the weather outside. Looking out his window in Bag End, years later, Bilbo felt the memory of that loss, that fear, seep into the marrow of his bones. Wind buffeted the walls of his warm hobbit home without relent, making the wooden foundation above him creak and moan, and heavy rain smattered against the glass window in angry torrents. The outside world was blurred to a point of no recognition.

He hated it. _Profusely._

Where the Fell Winter had been cold and snowy, this storm was violent, drenching. The monsoon had hung over the Shire in a unending shower for days now, and as it approached the three week marker hobbits began to murmur grave tidings- talk of flooded gardens and rising rivers, tragic drownings as the Brandywine and the Stockbrook rose. _Yavanna save us from the floods,_ they whispered. Their fear rivaled even the dread of that damned winter so long ago, and it stirred up grim memory beneath Bilbo's skin.

Bilbo sighed as he stood, heart sinking in his chest. It was barely midday of the seventeenth straight day of the storm and still the rain fell, still the black, shadowed strait above hung over the Shire, a mass of darkness rolling through the night.

He longed for the sun. Missed warmth on his face, light in the grass, the yellow glisten of morning light in dew drops. The golden crest of afternoon sun bursting across the faraway mountains, the whisper of summer warmth across his skin and through his curls: all this rain keeping him here, locked away...it was enough to drive him mad. Eventually he turned away from the window with a scowl. At the spry age of forty, Bilbo was just entering the peak of his life, with unruly, golden curls and bright, keen eyes one of the many testaments to his young age. But trapped in Bag End as the storm boomed and blustered outside, with damp air laboring his every movement, he felt the withered, aching age of eleventy.

Shuffling down the cool floors of his hallway he soon fell into the familiar pattern of pacing, having picked up the habit sometime in the last year. Keeping his eyes from wandering to the portrait that hung quietly in the corner, Bilbo swallowed roughly, thinking of all the habits he had acquired in these last long months. Gnawing at his bottom lip, wiping unconsciously at his face to brush away long absent tears, waking in the night with his heart in his throat and his mother's face behind his eyelids.

Bilbo Baggins was a changed hobbit, if the dark circles beneath his eyes told you no better, and it seemed a long time ago when light filled his once bright and twinkling gaze. He’d been tested in all the ways a hobbit could withstand, far more than a hobbit still in the gripping sway of youth, and so far, no one yet had told him so.

A crack of thunder split the maw of rain outside, and Bilbo was almost proud to say that he did not jump at the sound. Light sliced jaggedly through the windows in a stolen moment of harsh white shadow, and through the window could be seen the outlines of monstrous clouds broiling in the night. Instead of filling him with fear, Bilbo felt only disgust at the sight.

 _Damn and confusticate this storm,_ he thought, inner voice a hiss. Stalking huffily through the hallways again, he cast a disparaging look towards the windows as if it would admonish the storm into cessation. If it didn’t stop raining soon, Bilbo would end up as mad as a loon. Stomping half-heartedly into the dining room, he plopped down noisily at the large dining table for the sake of it. Then he stared at the candle flickering placed steadily before him, his annoyance draining away to be replaced with apprehension.

It was so quiet in Bag End, now.

The empty hobbit-hole was a hollow shell of the home it used to be. When once it had been brimmed with laughter and warmth, it sat now quiet and cavernous, devoid of the rich life that once filled it and its current Master. Bilbo Baggins was tired. Tired of _being_ tired, tired of the silence, tired of the ache that hung like a wet cloth over him, smothering the mirth from his lungs. He was young, yes, but the dark circles under his eyes spoke of an age-old pain, and Bilbo Baggins grew colder and more reserved up in his quiet hobbit-hole with every passing day.

Tomorrow marked the sixth month since Belladonna Baggins had died, and the sixth month since her son had felt life bloom in his heart.

The young hobbit swallowed, feeling the uneasiness in his stomach give way to the all-too-familiar tide of grief. He shook his head against it, a low and empty sigh dragging from his lips, and Bag End seemed to swallow the sound into its quiet, and that ached too.

Bilbo stared futilely at the bright flame in front of him, intent on burning away the tears at the back of his eyes. He winced, eyes watering as the light of the candle reflected a bright orange in his gaze, and a mounting hopelessness surged in his chest. He suddenly felt short of breath, as though his lungs had shrank within him, and something like panic strained against the floodgates in his heart. A desperate dizziness swept through him like a tidal wave. The sound of the rain, drums over his head, swallowed his thoughts and the aching emptiness in the home suddenly swelled, growing unbearable, all-consuming, a cacophony-- he couldn’t breathe, he needed to _breathe-_

Bilbo shot to his feet in a jerk, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth. He moved swiftly to the front room, ripping coats from his coat rack and throwing them on. His breath came fast and ragged through his lips, bordering on hyperventilation, and he had to escape, _run away,_ he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand this gaping _silence._ He just had to _get out._ Without a second glance to the warm fire and the empty home he was leaving behind, he wrenched open the door and stepped out into the deluge.

///

Instantly, he was slammed with a gale to send him off his feet. Shockingly frigid water roared down from the heavens to plaster his clothes to his skin and blind him, and wind fell like clay bricks upon his back. The flash of cold rain stole his breath from his lungs, stunning him still, and his mind emptied all at once to leave a single, terrible thought.

 _It's not enough. It's not_ enough.

_Run farther._

Bilbo lifted his foot, taking a wavering step off of his stone entryway; the stone was slippery and wet beneath his hairy feet. The rain made it impossible to see but a handful of feet in front of him, and his descent down from his home to the street was painstakingly slow. Water seeped like blue fire through his clothes, gripping his skin in a chilling embrace, and by the time he reached the muddy stream of what used to be the road through Hobbiton he was shuddering in it, his small frame leaning and stumbling through the downpour like a tiny leaf on a tree limb. Bilbo gritted his teeth, refusing to turn tail and give up when he’d already come so far, and powered on to nowhere with the drive of a huffing bull.

He blinked furiously through the water that dripped from his hair into his eyes, breath coming faster as he worked his feet through the soft, slippery ground with uneasy squelches. The ground seemed to keep hold of his feet as though alive, intent to swallow him into their dark depths until he wrenched them free, and each step was more difficult than the last. And yet-- and yet the farther he got from Bag End, the lighter he felt. Aside from the crack and call of thunder around him, the night was empty, and if he squinted hard enough he could see the dark outlines of hobbit homes as he trudged past them.

Few heads poked out to see the rather trodden looking hobbit wallow through the road, and fewer still held expressions of sympathy. As understanding as the hobbits of the Shire were to the hurt the young Master Baggins had experienced, it had been months since Belladonna had died. Becoming a recluse in his own home, tragedy or no, was still offensively unHobbitish in the eyes of more respectable hobbits of Hobbiton-- especially to the proud Sackville-Bagginses, relatives that always eyed Bag End with the gleam of greed in their stares and gossiped first about the odd, somber new Master of Bag End.

Wandering through the streets in the middle of the worst thunderstorm to ever hit the Shire, Bilbo thought, bemused, would do nothing to paint him in a brighter light.

Bilbo carried on nevertheless, clenching his jaw as water sluiced in waves down his cheeks, into his eyes, and soaked his curls to his head. Despite the cold and wind plastered his clothes to his body, he felt...better. Out of the stuffy, hollow Bag End, he felt like he was actually breathing-- living, as he worked his feet through mud, as he squinted against the stormy world around him. Sucking in a deep breath, spare droplets of water flying across his mouth, he found himself slowing to almost appreciate the torrents of water drowning him on dry land. The air was wet, chilly, fresh. His lungs bloomed in icy relief. He shivered despite this, gooseflesh shuddering down his spine, but Bilbo felt as if a noose around his neck was loosening. His breaths grew heavier and shakier, his lungs suddenly desperate, and Bilbo felt a sob break apart and dissolve through his wet lips: a choked, horrible noise of relief, of grief, of sadness, of loss. He closed his tearing eyes against the wind and let himself sway in the sheets of water and gale. Exposed, he let his chin drop, head bowing to let the sky shed the heavy rain upon his back. His control wavered and stumbled within him, fleeting through his numb grasp.

_Let it go, sweetling._

The voice, one once lost in Bilbo’s dreams, trembled in his ears. He craned his neck upwards despite the rain, squinting up into the dark.

 _Let go,_ it whispered, and something worn finally broke inside the hobbit, an ancient dam crumbling to let the river through. Bilbo's face crumpled, and he let out a whimper, the maw in his chest gaping in quiet agony. Months of deepest grief began to leech from his eyes, every withheld moment, choked down cry bleeding out of him-- he shouted wordless, devastated curses in the night, weeping for his mother, his father, the hurt, for himself-- _lonely, quiet, empty, alone, why did he have to be so-_  Warm tears shattered across his frozen cheeks, and Bilbo Baggins let himself break in two.  

His throat eventually gave out. Eyes burning against the freezing rain, from tears or pain he couldn't discern, he sighed, so heavily he thought he'd collapse from it. His head dropped and his shaking shoulders slumped, pain fading and dying within him. Belladonna’s face flashed once in his mind, revived, and this time it was...better. The wound was fresh but no longer sick. It was uncaged. He wrapped his arms around himself, sucking in deep, tremulous breaths, and for the first time in months, he felt real. Well and truly there, alive, breathing.

_Home._

The attractive idea of a flickering fire seeped into his cold-addled mind, and he found his feet moving once again through the soggy ground with vigor. Bilbo swallowed harshly, feeling himself grow steadier with each wavering step, and the lights from within the hobbit homes he passed blurred in his vision like he was once more gazing out the window, watching the world swirl into seamless shapes in the dark. He was approaching Hobbiton again-- Bilbo was dumbfounded by how far he had wandered-- and the chill from the rain had long since sank through his skin into his bones. His teeth rattled like the lip of a boiling tea kettle, and he sighed only to lose the sound in a crack of thunder. 

The heavens above rolled again, the sky flickering with lighting that arched through the clouds like jagged cobwebs, and it was then when Bilbo realized the thunder itself was growing louder and faster in his ears. Beats rumbled in growing tempo, shaking the ground beneath his feet, and the hobbit whirled in alarm just in time to throw himself to the side. A dark rider roared past him on a short horse, missing Bilbo's small form by a hairsbreadth, and Bilbo yelped, splashing hard into the mud. Gasping, he whirled with eyes wide as the rider continued undeterred, his horse speeding off on the road and sending loam flying through the air with each lifted hoof. Bilbo spluttered, wobbling to his feet before shaking the dirt from his soaked curls, and stared after him. His heart hammered in his chest as he sucked down air, rattled with how close he came to being trampled.

 _What is a rider doing in the Shire?_  The last hobbit to ever ride a horse in Shire history was Bullroarer Took at Battle of Greenfields, historically knocking the Goblin chieftain’s head clean from his shoulders in victory; hobbits-- with their admittedly minute stature and predilection for walking-- were not riders, and horses could only truly be found as close as Bree. Bilbo watched, mind spinning, as the horse and its rider were swallowed in the dark and rain, and the curious Tookish side of Bilbo’s blood reared its head for the first time in what seemed an age. He trembled again, the cold jarring him from his daze, and the Baggins side of his lineage quickly chimed that he was, in fact, in the middle of a monsoon and that standing much longer out here might freeze him solid.

Bilbo was inclined to agree. He trudged forward once again, limbs shuddering with lingering shock as the lights of Hobbiton came reassuringly into view. Thunder boomed once again and the hobbit couldn’t resist looking behind him, his eyes wide looking for another rider.

But only darkness, marred by the downpour of rain, met his eyes. He paused, briefly, and was already lifting a pale foot to carry on when something flashed at the corner of his eye, shifting in the stark white of lightning's shadow. He narrowed his eyes, wiping them futilely with a dripping, clammy hand, and stared uselessly into the dark. A tense beat, with only rain and thunder filling his ears, and then- _there._ Bilbo squinted into the deluge and caught the distinct shift in movement in the bushes lining the west side of the road, leaves moving against the wind.

The Tookish curiosity in him emerged again, and before Bilbo realized the rashness of his actions he was cautiously approaching the bush, his mouth slightly agape as he inhaled. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, so loud that it nearly overcame the cacophony of rain around him. His feet sank unappealingly into the mud, but a hobbit was a hobbit, and Bilbo was silent through the night, creeping upon the bush without sound. When he finally approached it and, gently pushing aside the wet leaves, he peered inside and... nearly fainted.

“By the Valar,” he breathed.

Crouching terrified in the wet bush were two wee children, soaked and trembling. They shook violently, spasmodically, eyes bright with fear even in the dark. Bilbo gasped at the same time as they did, and one immediately grabbed the smaller and shoved him behind protectively, wide eyes huge with terror. Obscured in the bush the hobbit could make out very little, only that before him-- in the middle of a bloody _monsoon_ \-- were two children, practically toddlers, staring at him with absolute horror. Bilbo froze at the fear in their eyes, mind emptying with disbelief.

What in the name of Eru were these children  _doing_ out in a storm of this magnitude?

Before Bilbo could blurt out a question or even form an articulate thought, the suddenly familiar sound of a charging horse broke through the wall of rain in his ears. Head jerking to the right, he saw two more horses in the distance, the steam huffing from their nostrils making them out as dark, dangerous. The hobbit heard another gasp and he saw the two younglings freeze solid, their wide eyes locking on the horses with fear so powerful that Bilbo, in turn, felt afraid. Confused and frightened and at a loss, with dark riders coming upon them like lightning and the tiny children crouching in the bush like terrified rabbits, Bilbo did the only thing he could.

He dove into the bush with them.

///

The horses halted with sharp yanks at their reins, hot breath puffing through their nostrils as they stamped the mud, anxiously lifting their hooves and sending mud flying. Bilbo covered his mouth with a numb hand, feeling the two childlings quiver next to him. He quickly knelt into the soft, loamy mud, hiding further in the shifting leaves, and swiftly caught his breath, needlessly holding a finger to his lips to tell the children to be quiet.

 _Surely they hadn’t seen me,_ he thought desperately, staring as the riders circled their horses-- or were they ponies?-- on the road so they could face one another. _The rain is too thick, surely they hadn’t._ The fear in the children’s eyes was enough to inspire his own worries, and mad ideas skittered through his brain like droplets across a slanted roof. Were they soldiers, mercenaries, traders? The riders didn't move to climb from their steeds, and instead the strained thread of voices could be heard through the night.

“Any sign of ‘em?” A gravel-deep voice boomed through the din, guttural and scratchy. The maw of the downpour forced him to raise his voice to a shout in order to be heard.

“No,” the other rider called out, his voice as equally deep. His broad, powerful shoulders hitched under the rain, and his hood obscured his face. “Where are those Void-damned brats?”

Bilbo felt his gaze drawn to the younglings crouched beside him, their tiny forms shaking so hard that the leaves around them rustled, and his dread was confirmed. The riders were searching for the children. And judging from the sheer terror that emanated from them, along with the less than kindly tone the rider had adopted in reference to them, the riders were not their proper guardians. Bilbo looked back at the riders through the bush leaves, his blue gaze narrowing as a foreign feeling of protectiveness slid across his heart. His pulse threaded furiously in his veins, anger mixing with fear, and he strained his sensitive hobbit ears to catch for anything more.

“-then where in Mahal’s name could they be?” one thundered, his cavernous voice laced with a scalding anger. “Damn Karoc for letting them out of his sight, we’ll never find them in this blasted storm.”

“Taroc will have our beards if we don’t!”

 _Mahal. Our beards._ Bilbo’s mind raced, taking in the sight of the riders perched on their horses, their smaller height. His jaw nearly dropped in realization.

_Dwarves._

_Dwarves_ were in the Shire. In _Hobbiton._

Looking over at the children beside him, with their figures obscured with leaves and rain, Bilbo's mind reeled in revelation. _Could they be dwarflings?_ Impossible to tell from there, he looked once again to the riders, and an enlightening flash of lightning revealed that poking through the riders’ hoods in intricate braids were actually large beards, sopping wet and bushy. _Dwarves, oh Yavanna,_ dwarves _in the Shire._

And they were hunting younglings.

 _Bilbo Baggins, what have you gotten yourself into?_ his Baggins-blood bemoaned. His prudent Bungo-sense was silenced as his Took side suddenly charged front and center, rising in his chest like the mounting tide. His fists clenched at his sides, cold pale knuckles turning white with the force.

_We must get away from them. We must get to Bag End._

“They won’t last long in this storm,” the first rider barked, and there was a thread of smugness beneath the anger in his tone that twisted in Bilbo’s gut like a blade. “If we don’t find ‘em soon they’ll both be as dead as coffin nails. No big loss either, we’ve been playin’ with fire too long, keepin’ ‘em alive.”

“Taroc won’t share your views,” the other grunted, but there was resignation in the growl of his voice. “But we shoulda traded ‘em months ago. Don’t know why we had ta come all the way to this halfling hovel, trekkin’ halfway ‘cross Middle Earth just for two dwarfling runts. No treasure’s worth the pain in my arse from all this damn riding.” His voice slipped into a snarl. “But if we don’t find ‘em that’ll be the least of my worries.”

“It’s his fool brother’s fault,” the rider hissed, venomously.

“You know Taroc doesn’t listen ta reason when his brother’s involved,” the other retorted. “But we’ve wavered too long. The longer it takes ta find 'em the smaller chance we’ll find ‘em breathin’.” His voice twisted in indifference, as if that outcome was more preferable, and in that moment Bilbo was nearly overcome with horror and outrage.

“If we find 'em at all,” one growled as he straightened in his saddle, wiping water from his face, “But if we do--” A pale gleam of a smile could be seen in the dark, and Bilbo felt true fear pierce his heart. “-those brats’ll regret th' day they was born.” The two riders snapped their reins, and with twin high-pitched whinnies from their steeds, they flew off into the night, their horses’ hooves slamming into the swampy ground like war drums.

It wasn’t until the sounds of their leaving faded into the rain that Bilbo turned to stare at the two younglings next to him. Two fearful pairs of eyes found him, one blue and one brown. The larger one had scooped the younger one into his tiny arms somehow, clutching the latter so tightly his little hands turned white, and the mere sight made Bilbo’s heart turn to porcelain in his chest. Without further thought, Bilbo's decision was made.

“Let me take you somewhere safe,” he whispered.

**end chapter one**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ages of Fili and Kili are of my own device, considering the age divergence between hobbits and dwarves-- both of which are considerably slower than men-- so assume for the most part that Fee and Kee are approximately (being 77 and 82 in the books/films, but looking like their twenties) five and ten in dwarf years. Imagine Kili looking like a toddler at two or three, and Fili looking like a four or five year old, if that helps. Ik it's complicated, I'm terrible, but what the hell, it's my AU, so it's bound to be crackers.
> 
> As for Bilbo's reaction, ik it's dramatic but at this point in his life, Bilbo is very much not okay. He lost both of his parents in the expanse of two years in the human approximation of his twenties, and he's very depressed, lonely, and struggling with grief that other hobbits shame him for. Expressing himself in the rain is a just a shred of the sorrow that he has in his heart, so don't expect the angst to be over and done, because he's a little angstmuffin and I'll give him his proper due.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	2. shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo brings the dwarflings into his home, but the danger is far from done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg first of all
> 
> the responses
> 
> I mean holy crap I have never gotten such an overwhelming response to my work before, never mind so quickly. I am...just...in awe of all of you amazing people, I can't even comprehend it-- thank you so much for expressing interest in my writing, it means just...so much.
> 
> secondly, apologies for the shorter chapter but I had to cut this chapter in half because of reasons XD
> 
> again, thank you guys so much for reading and commenting and bookmarking this work, ack, I love you all!!!
> 
> //backflips into the sun//

**chapter two**

**shelter**

Bilbo barreled into Bag End in a slippery skid of numb, wet feet. His aching arms nearly buckled as he set the dripping, trembling children on the floor, and spinning on a pale heel he slammed the door behind him hard enough to make its frame shudder. He threw himself against the green wood and locked the door with fumbling hands-- counting his lucky stars his parents had had the smarts to install one-- and just like that, he was through.

Home. Bag End. Safe.

His palms found the cool door's surface, steepling against in support as his knees shook from adrenaline. His breath came in soft, painful gasps that rattled in his lungs, and for a moment it was all he could do not to slump completely to the floor. 

Home. Bag End.  _Safe._

The exquisite warmth of Bag End engulfed his back like a welcome blanket, and Bilbo had never felt so horrendously grateful in his life. He turned and leaned against his door, a throb in his back swelling, and he placed a damp hand on his chest, feeling the wild thudding of his heart beneath the skin. He closed his eyes in a moment of desperately needed collection.

_Breathe. Focus._

He opened his eyes, and looked downwards.

Before him a dwarfling stood terrified, with his arms clamped tight around an even smaller childling in sopping robes. He stared at Bilbo like a petrified fawn, and shook from head to toe. As the hobbit met his eyes, his tiny form became wracked with tension, and with a growing urgency, he took tiny, timid steps backwards away from Bilbo.

Bilbo did his best not to panic.

"Hello," he whispered, a little croakily. Immediately, the dwarfling went painfully still, and Bilbo winced.

 _Get it together, Baggins,_ he thought, and jagged breath whistled through his lips as he carded a hand through his wet curls, hand tightening in the damp golden locks briefly as if to jar himself from his stupor. He blinked rapidly, gathering his thoughts as he unconsciously shrugged off his ruined coat and hung it uselessly on the nearby rack. He sucked in another breath, and moved his gaze to the watching, quivering children below.

The warm candlelight painted them in heartbreaking detail. In the light they were most certainly dwarves, their lack of curly hair in favor for long and braided locks striking them out as fauntlings and short statures too short and stocky for lean children of Men. The older child, his shaggy blond hair plastered to his head and darkened with water, stared at Bilbo with glittering eyes the size of moons, staring as though he expected Bilbo to strike out at them. His wet, earth brown clothes were bulky but ratty, hanging on the small child to look more like sacks than clothes, and his little booted feet were caked in mud from trekking through the sodden streets of Hobbiton. His skin was pale and his eyes were lined in dark circles, and his whole body trembled with shudders that left Bilbo's bones aching. He looked no older than a fauntling at seven to Bilbo’s eyes. The younger had dark brown hair and eyes, and Bilbo noted with concern how he seemed dazed with fever. His pale cheeks were mottled with pink and his breaths came in soft, raspy gasps, and even as he stirred weakly his brother clutched him tighter in his arms.

_Sweet Eru. These poor little things._

Bilbo desperately needed to do something.

“Ah...” he said intelligently, and he winced again at the volume of his voice in the quiet house. The blond dwarfling flinched, the terror in his eyes building like a flame, and the babe in his arms made a distressed, thick noise.  Bilbo hesitated before slowly kneeling to the cool floor, moving down to their height to appear less intimidating.  _Yavanna, just look at them._ Guiltily, he softened his voice and tried again.

“Can you tell me your name, little one?”

He was greeted by silence, and Bilbo's heart sank as harried blue eyes darted quickly around Bag End, only to land on Bilbo with a terror and suspicion that yanked wretchedly at his heartstrings. He gave what he very much hoped was a friendly smile as the blond dwarfling shook harder.

“Don’t worry,” he said, casting a hand over the inside of Bag End. “It’s warm and safe in here.”

Even as he said so, Bilbo's eyes flickered worriedly to the door and back. The older one seemed to notice.

Taking a deep breath, he moved his hand forward, fingers gently outstretched. He barely made contact on the blond dwarfling’s shoulder before he winced and drew back, catching his breath as the dwarfling flinched and jerked away as if struck. The babe keened at the sudden movement, and Bilbo regretfully dropped his hand.

"Shh, here, little one," he said. "Please, let me help. I won't hurt you, I only want to help."

The older dwarfling looked up at him, blue eyes blinking. Something within his gaze seemed to break, shift. The hobbit bit his lip and watched as the dwarfling seemed to waver, old grief colliding with frighteningly adult resignation on his face. Tiny shoulders fell slack, defeated.

"Thank you," Bilbo whispered, and with greatest care, urged the two dwarflings further into the home, beckoning them to rest by the smoldering fire in the sitting room. They tracked little prints of mud onto the floor as they went, and droplets of water dripped from their hair and clothes, but Bilbo could not have cared less.

“See?" he asked, watching the dwarflings stare hazily into the crackling orange flames. "The fire is warm and bright, it’ll warm you up in a pinch.”

The blond dwarfling just stared at him as the younger one snuffled thickly in his arms, pale faces drawn in the flickering light of the fire. The older one's eyes-- wide, gleaming seas of blue-- bored into Bilbo, searching with a suspicion that was beginning to alarm him. How could he have been made so weary? To force a child to learn to seek out malice or ill-will in others, when he deserved only love and kindness, was an unspeakable travesty the likes of which Bilbo could hardly bear. Did he think Bilbo was going to harm him? _Undoubtedly,_ he thought, with a horror that scraped along his ribcage. The very idea of laying a hand on _anyone_ , never mind these innocent younglings, was enough to make his stomach churn. 

Their silence was beginning to make him desperate. He once again felt pressed to offer them any sort of comfort, but as he opened his mouth again, he could only falter, mouth pressing together hopelessly. What was he supposed to do, or say? What _could_ he do?

"I...are- are you warmer, then?"

 _Oh. Excellent work, Bilbo. Very comforting._ His cheeks flamed with embarrassment. The blond dwarfling just stared at him for a moment before something gave way in his small shoulders. His eyes moved to the babe in his arms, growing shadowed with worry and darkness.

“Fee,” he whispered, suddenly. “I’s Fee.”

Bilbo restrained himself from the urge to lurch forward and touch, comfort. Yavanna, the _sound_ of his voice. It was the voice of a ghost, a devastating parody of what a child's voice should sound like.Bilbo wanted to wrap him up in his arms and tell him it would be alright, he wanted to-

“Fee?”

Clutching the little baby dwarf tighter in his arms, Fee shuffled his tiny bare feet.

"Your name is Fee?”

The little blond dwarfling hesitated, only to bob his head in a barren nod. 

“Kee," he said then, rocking the childling in his arms once. His voice was nearly dead with hopelessness. "Is Kee.”

 _The babe looks but four,_  Bilbo's mind chokes out.

_Only four._

In the sudden silence of Bag End, he could hear the distant, distinct sound of tiny teeth chattering.

“Fee,” he said, reaching out so slowly, doing his very, very best to smile. “And this is Kee? Is he your little brother, Fee?”

The little dwarfling nodded once more, a hitched noise echoing out almost uncontrollably from behind his chattering teeth, and suddenly Bilbo felt a surge of hot anger, the likes of which he'd never felt before. What monster could do this? How _dare_ they?

Keeping his voice soft and quiet despite the foreign, flashing anger broiling in his veins, he reached out and put a hesitant hand on the dwarfling’s damp shoulder. The childling froze beneath his grasp, but didn't shift away.

“My name is Bilbo," the hobbit whispered. "I am going to keep you and your brother safe. Okay, Fee?”

Fee stared unblinkingly into Bilbo’s eyes, for a moment so heartbreakingly young, and there was the briefest of pauses. But then Fee nodded silently, and the hobbit nearly sighed with relief.

"Okay. Okay. Come here, darling, let me lift you." He gently scooped up the dwarfling-- who hunched into a ball immediately at being lifted, clinging tightly but surely to the softly keening babe in his arms.

They weighed, worryingly, next to nothing.

"Come now," he hums, to keep his voice from dissolving completely. "Let's get you warm."

///

Bilbo was instantly worried about changing them.

He wouldn't know how they would react. He didn't know if they would- oh, Eru...The idea of what could have happened to them made Bilbo feel ill, and he prayed to the maker that no perverse hand had been lain on these innocent little children. They weren't in a state to dress themselves and they knew not where his clothes were, and they certainly couldn't remain in their wet clothes, so he had no choice other than to dress them himself.

But the possibility of- of- how the children could react was truly concerning.

"Fee?" he whispered quietly. He would not, he would not ask them what they had experienced, but he would, damn it, ask their permission.

The little child looked up at him, his little chin wobbling with the force of his chattering teeth, and Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath.

"May I- may I help you into some warmer clothes?"

The blond dwarfling did not burst into tears or start screaming, as Bilbo so feared, or look any measure more terrified. He simply blinked and nodded, shivering intensely in his dripping clothes. Weary, Bilbo gave him a weak smile, and gingerly set to work, holding his breath for what horrors he might find on the young dwarflings' bodies. To his depthless relief, they wore thin, mostly dry underclothes made of pale cotton beneath their soaked outerwear, and he did not make to remove them. The dwarflings didn't react any differently to Bilbo than usual, and the hobbit took it as a good sign-- or as hopeful a sign he could manage. Kee had barely noticed at all that he was being undressed, fever clouding his eyes in a worrisome gloss.

He helped Fee set Kee down in a warm blanket on Bilbo's bed, and the childling sank effortlessly into the depths of his warm sheets. Fee blankly patted the soft sheets beneath him in something akin to distant wonder-- _Yavanna, how long has it been since they've slept in a warm bed?_ \-- but Kee was disconcertingly quiet. Although he was past infancy, Kee was still a fragile toddler, dangerously susceptible to the cold and the elements, and he reminded Bilbo too much of fauntlings in winter. Sick, quiet, hot to the touch. Like tiny flowers, withering in frost.

_No. Focus, Bilbo._

Out of the blankets Kee looked larger, near five in the age of a hobbit fauntling-- but Bilbo knew next to nothing about how dwarves aged, so he could be one or ten and Bilbo wouldn’t know the difference. Fee watched with dubious eyes as Bilbo pressed an ear to the tiny dwarfling’s chest, listening intently. The heartbeat in Kee’s chest was steady but soft, worryingly slow, and Bilbo swallowed. He would have to fetch Hobbiton’s doctor soon, but not now. He took a blanket and softly rubbed circles into the babe’s exposed skin, hurrying to warm him but ever gentle, until the babe’s eyes closed and his soft breathing became more audible in the silence of Bilbo’s bedroom.

“Kee?” Fee whispered, the emptiness in his voice replaced with quiet, open fear.

“He’ll be okay, Fee,” Bilbo whispered, leaning up from the sleeping child. He quickly slipped Fee into an old wool nightshirt that looked unspeakably large on the dwarfling but would do to keep him warm. He changed swiftly behind his closet door into something dry himself, discarding all the wet clothes to the side of the bedroom floor without a thought, and went to warming Fee.

The dwarfling did not complain or speak, he only shivered. Seeing the broken look in the child’s eyes as he stared at his brother, almost uncaring for himself as Bilbo changed him, broke the hobbit's heart. A soft noise passed unbidden from his lips, breaking through the silence, and in a moment of compulsion he scooped the tiny dwarfling up into his arms.

Bilbo hugged him close to his chest, cradling him with tenderest care. His arms encircled the youngling's small form as he pressed his nose to the child's cool temple, eyes falling shut with heartache. He was cold, so cold, and Bilbo anxiously rubbed circles into the little dwarfling’s back and arms, desperate to warm him.

Fee went completely tense in his arms, his minute body locking down as if in fear. Instantly, Bilbo blanked, horrified that had frightened the child, and he internally cursed himself to the Void and back. Leaning back, he quickly loosened his hold, throat tightening with shame.

"Oh, Eru. Forgive me, Fee- I didn't me-"

The dwarfling made a soft sudden noise, filled with ache, and before Bilbo could jump away, Fee wilted in the hobbit's embrace. His subtle shivering gave way to quiet, wracking sobs, and excruciatingly, Fee burst into tears. Whimpering into Bilbo’s chest, the scared child fell to pieces, and Bilbo closed his eyes against the tears that bloomed beneath his eyelids. He cradled Fee closer, rocking him gently as he cried, whispering condolences.

“I know, I know,” he said as Fee let out a keening, hoarse wail, and Bilbo nuzzled placatingly into his hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I got you, sweetheart. I got you now. It's going to be okay.”

Fee clung to Bilbo like a lifeline, his pale hands fisting tightly in Bilbo’s warm woolen nightshirt, and cried harder.

“I’m going to protect you, Fee, you and Kee,” he promised, throat growing thick, and he sucked in a breath to remain composed. They'd been through so much, these younglings: the last thing they needed was a weeping hobbit. They needed somebody to be strong for them-- and that was what Bilbo was going to be.

“You’re going to be okay. I got you now. You’re going to be alright, Fee, I promise.”

He was a Baggins, of the most stubborn hobbit line, and Bagginses did not break promises.

Fee's sobs were heartbroken, and Bilbo drew a blanket around them both, continuing to rub warming, comforting circles in Fee’s back as he whispered soothing words into his ear. Minutes passed and Bilbo never let go, holding the dwarfling in a warm, safe embrace until the tears stopped and the shaking ceased, until Fee was utterly spent and exhausted. He went out like a light in Bilbo’s arms not much later, finally warm, his soft cheeks red with exertion. His blond eyelashes fluttered delicately as Bilbo laid him down gently next to his quietly snoring little brother, whose soft noises Kee made were louder than before, reassuring him that the small dwarfling babe had warmed.

Bilbo fretted around them, tucking them both up in soft furs. Fee stirred in his blanket, reaching out in his sleep with sleepy mumbles until he sensed his brother and drew him close: protective, it seemed even in the depths of sleep. It made Bilbo’s heart cleave in two.

For a long while he sat there, watching over them, brushing Kee’s soft hair from his face. As a shuddering breath left his lips, Bilbo let out a sorrowful, stolen noise. How could this have ever happened? Certainly they had parents out there, worried to death for them? The dwarves that Bilbo had seen were most certainly not their parents, _no_ parents would have left their children out in this damned storm, _no parents_ would have spoken so harshly about their children, especially when they were missing-- those Dwarves had most likely taken these little dwarflings from their home. Stolen them, and lost them in the deluge. Bilbo’s heart burned in outrage, but it was not without fear that he contemplated whether they would return to search again for the tiny children they had taken.

Everything was so uncertain. There was so little Bilbo knew.

 _Well, if anything is certain, it’s that those Dwarven beasts won’t lay another hand on these children._ His will was made strong, almost savage, in the white-hot heat of his anger.  _If it’s the last thing I do, I will keep Fee and Kee safe._

His resolve stretched into steel through the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep in mind that Bilbo's idea of Kee and Fee's ages are based on his perceptions as a hobbit, I'm sorry for any confusion that might cause!


	3. ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo fetches a doctor. Fluff and angst lie ahead.  
> Mostly adorable Fee and Kee, and bathtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...actually have lots of excuses this time for not publishing, mostly due to the weather-- ugh, so much damn snow-- but real life sometimes doesn't give you the time you want for writing. But...here's the second half of the last chapter posted!
> 
> Thanks for your patience xD
> 
> /returns to warm pillow fort//

**chapter three**

**ground**

Bilbo didn't dare sleep a wink all night. He had perched next to the sleeping dwarflings on the bed, listening, keeping vigil, his ears sharp and alert for any sign of dwarven intruders. The faint whispers of their breathing had brought small comfort to the hobbit’s frayed nerves, but he didn't waver. The night wasn't safe-- not with Kee at risk, not when there was a chance Fee would wake up and need his embrace again, not when danger lurked outside his door. He had checked their temperatures frequently with tender brushes on their foreheads through the hours, and while they had warmed throughout the night, Kee’s temperature was now too warm for his liking.

 _I must fetch a doctor,_ he thought anxiously, and he quickly, silently shrugged into more layers of clothing. His movements were swift, so not to disturb the sleeping younglings, but every shift and step was made with trepidation. It couldn't be put off any longer, and when it came to a choice of the dwarflings' health versus their trust there really was no question, but it was still a gamble: he had to be a responsible adult for these dwarflings, even if it meant leaving them in Bag End for a little bit-- they needed attention from a healer-- but he hated the idea of leaving them alone. He feared every possible consequence to doing so, had agonized all night over it, but now it was time. The light passing through the windows had brightened just slightly, and enough time had passed to inform Bilbo that it was approaching morn. The doctor would likely be awake and ready to help, what the with stormy weather-- not that it mattered, but Bilbo had been far too scared to leave the dwarflings alone so quickly-- so now was the best time to leave.

_Yavanna keep them safe until I return._

Casting one last concerned look towards the sleeping children, he quietly closed the bedroom door and hurried off, locking the door behind him with haste as he ran out into the pouring rain once again to fetch the doctor.

///

Bilbo returned swiftly, bustling through the door sopping wet with an equally drenched and flustered older hobbit at his side.

“Quickly, come in, hurry,” Bilbo said, beckoning the doctor inside and freeing him of his wet overcoat before swiftly sliding off his own. The doctor, a portly aging hobbit with grey hair and eyes-- Hobbiton's best healer for the latter of thirty years-- placed the blanket draped over his healing kit off to the side, shaking water droplets thoughtlessly from his hair. He huffed a breath, shaking his wet curls around irritably as he blustered, and turned on Bilbo with a gimlet eye.

“I obliged you at my home, Master Baggins, due to the urgency in your bidding,” he started, his voice disapproving. “but you really must tell me what-”

Bilbo quickly cut him off, without care for manners. “Come, doctor, I’ll show you.” He beckoned the healer hobbit down the hall, swiftly padding towards the bedroom door. The doctor hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around dubiously, before hurrying off after him with his healing kit clenched tightly in his hand.

Opening the door, Bilbo stumbled. Fee was sitting upright on the bed, tears streaking actively down his cheeks as his breath came from his lips in panicked, sharp gasps. His eyes were glistening and wide, darting around wildly and frightened before coming to rest on Bilbo, and they went wider for a moment, almost untrusting, before the betrayal in his eyes dissolved into fresh anguish. A broken note of a whimper escaped Fee’s lips, and it nearly brought the hobbit to his knees.

“Oh, Fee,” Bilbo said, voice sharp with despair. He’d hoped that Fee would sleep through his brief departure for the doctor, but now he realized his foolishness and guilt slammed into him like a hammer. The tears on Fee’s cheeks glistened in accusation, and Bilbo rushed forward to take the trembling dwarfling in his arms. The little child clung to him once again, softly keening and shaking.

“N-No,” Fee managed to stutter out in hiccuped Common, and Bilbo's heart plummeted. “D-Don't. N-no g-g-go.”

No go. _Don’t leave._

“I promise I won’t leave, Fee, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for leaving you alone.” He brushed a calming hand through Fee’s now frizzy- but still, impossibly soft-- golden hair, wiping away the tears that streaked down the dwarfling’s pale cheeks as guilt assaulted him once again. “I won’t leave again, I promise, but I got someone to help Kee, okay?”

He looked down at the now-still child, whose red eyes were questioning and weary, only to level his watery gaze at the doctor, who had watched the whole scene with wide eyes. Bilbo turned to look at him, swallowing hard.

“Those aren't..." The healer's voice was hollow with shock, and Bilbo could see his keen mind spinning behind his pale grey eyes.

The healer was not a fool. He'd seen enough fauntlings to know when he was looking at them, and when he was not.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, wishing that his voice was stronger than it was. “Please, I beg of you, do what you can for them. They were exposed too long to- to the cold and the rain, they need treatment.”

He remained deliberately cryptic on what little he knew-- leaving out how he came by the dwarflings and who he’d seen with them, and about other injuries the children could have sustained-- and the look he leveled the doctor as doubt entered the older hobbit’s eyes left no chance of questioning on the matter.

“O-Of course,” the doctor quickly stammered after staring for a frozen moment. His eyes passed over the watchful Fee to the still sleeping, softly stirring Kee. “Which- which child should I see to first?”

Bilbo sighed in relief, nearly going weak with it, but first he turned to Fee and looked the little child straight in the eye. Fee’s gaze did not falter and Bilbo was struck once again by the awareness in his soft eyes.

“Fee. Can this nice hobbit look at your brother? He wants to make Kee feel better, just like me. He’ll be very gentle, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to him. Or you. Okay?”

Fee sucked in a tiny breath through his nose, his eyes passing in a blink from Bilbo to the tense doctor, and after a crippling beat, he nodded. Bilbo sighed once more in relief.

“Here," he says, gesturing to the sleeping babe beside him. "The little one is Kee.”

The doctor blinked and approached slowly. Fee’s unblinking gaze glued to him with that same weariness from the night before, and Bilbo took an arm and wrapped it encouragingly around Fee. Drops of tension leaked from the little boy’s shoulders, but he tensed once again as the doctor came close to Kee and opened his bag. The healer placed gentle hands on the little dwarfling's form, checking his heartbeat and temperature and made small tutting noises under his breath.

“He has a fever, and his throat is clogged with mucus. That is the cause of his breathing hindrance, and the fever his sluggishness.” The doctor was methodical in his observations, but kindness filtered through his tone as he checked the child for injuries and gently opened his mouth to check his throat. Kee struggled, waking quickly, but Fee leaned out from Bilbo’s arm and took Kee’s hand in his. Slowly, Kee quieted, and the doctor and Bilbo both gazed at the two with their hearts melting in their eyes. It was a heartbreakingly sweet sight.

“It was good that you warmed him, it is clear he was exposed too long to chill- but it was not the wet that caused the illness. The cold merely aggravated an sickness and his fever is concerning.” Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, fear stuttering in his heart, but the doctor continued, “But this kind of illness is common in young children. I know not of dwarven illness or affliction, but in hobbit children this ailment can be treated with warm baths and salts to clear the nasal passages, soft foods and chicken broth, and he must shed extra layers. The warmth was good when he needed it but the greatest concern now is to lower the child’s fever.”

Bilbo sighed a third time, the relief washing over him in a wave. “Thank Eru,” he whispered, petting Fee’s hair and closing his eyes to send a prayer of thanks. “Just a fever.”

He reached out and brushed Kee’s soft hair, and the little lad’s dark eyelashes fluttered. He made small, thick cooing noise, his lips parting, and Bilbo could have cried like a fool to see the light dance in little Fee’s eyes as Kee made soft, more alert sounds.

“Feeeee,” the little Kee keened and the blond dwarfling gave a tiny smile- the closest Bilbo had ever seen him come to joy.

“Yes,” the healer hummed, proffering a smile. His gaze fell to Fee, who regarded the doctor with barely lessened ambiguity. “How do you feel, little lad? Tummy ache? Do you feel hot?”

Slowly, keeping his hand in clear view and receiving a nod from Bilbo, he extended a palm towards Fee and placed a palm on his head. Fee tensed, his eyes flickering up worriedly to Bilbo, but the hobbit nodded and he relaxed once more. The hobbit doctor hummed again, his fingers gently probing the young dwarfling’s neck and chest, before nodding and leaning back.

“Slight fever, hardly dangerous,” the doctor confirmed with satisfaction. “A bit peaky, though. They both look in need of some food and new clothes-” Bilbo blushed as the doctor raised an eyebrow at the over-sized nightshirt that draped Fee like a blanket. “Kee looks past the age where he would need cloths but with his being a dwarf, I’m afraid I do not know exactly whether or not he's too old for them. Developmentally, they seem too old, but in light of their physical circumstance... I shall have some sent over just in case, along with food best suited for ill young dwarflings,” he said, with a wink at Fee. The dwarfling did not grin back, simply blinking, but Bilbo smiled for him. Even so, his mind stirred worriedly over the doctor's words. Indeed, Kee looked a bit too old for cloths, but...they were so thin, so  _small._

“Thank you,” Bilbo intoned gratefully, a heavy burden lifting from his heart. He had not even thought about the dwarfling's more basic needs, and as far as food for the younglings went he had no idea what would be best. His situation had never felt so overwhelming, but that made him all the more grateful towards the healer. “Truly, I cannot thank you enough. It’s just been so- I don’t know-” He cut himself off and the doctor’s eyes glittered with sympathy. The healer clasped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and Bilbo let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“It is no trouble, Mister Baggins,” the older hobbit said with a respectful bow of the head. “It is my duty to aid the sick. Especially children, be they fauntlings or dwarflings or even little children of Men. I would never turn anyone ill away, never mind innocent younglings, thank you very much." The healer sniffed in put-upon indignance, making Bilbo smile. "I will gather the things you need and help you choose proper food for them, and I have in mind a few herbs that may help the two children fight off their fever and future possible complications. Should there be anymore symptoms, I urge you to seek my counsel, I'll be only too happy to give it.”

He closed his kit, giving Kee a soft look, and turned to leave.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said once again, breathless with gratitude, and the doctor nodded and turned on a heel. Bilbo blinked, thoughts shifting, and he called out, “Doctor!”

The older hobbit paused in the doorway, raising an ashen brow.

“Yes?”

Bilbo held his gaze firm this time. “Please, if you do not mind...be discreet.”

He did not elaborate, and even though questions surged in the doctor’s gaze, he did not ask. Sweeping one last gaze over the two dwarves and Bilbo, he harrumphed and nodded his head, then left the room quietly. Bilbo closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed all over again. He was alone again with the dwarflings, alone with his thoughts, and now that Kee and Fee had been looked over...there were yet more mountains to tackle. Mountains that Bilbo hadn't the slightest about overcoming.

Suddenly he felt a tug on his waistcoat and he looked down to see little Fee eyeing him, his little features scrunched up and his eyes vulnerable.

“Yes, Fee?”

“Ummm,” the dwarfling hummed inarticulately. His eyes darted around before coming back to Bilbo, lit with aching hesitance before turning into resolve.

“I...Wee. I’s...I’s need ta wee.”

The hobbit’s brow furrowed. “Wee? Wee...oh, wee!" He bit down a chuckle. "Do you need to use the bathroom, Fee?”

“Uh. Yes. Pease,” Fee said, quite politely, but with a little, urgent bounce that ruined his attempt at stoicism. Bilbo smiled and, scooping Kee up in one arm, took Fee by the hand and led him to the bathroom.

///

The water was warm but not hot, and he lay the softly struggling Kee into the sink as gently as he could, taking care to support his back and head. Although Kee was not an infant-- rather a toddler who could speak and waddle around-- he was still weak with fever and too small for Bilbo’s tub. The herbal scent of the bathsalts bloomed from the water in pleasing wafts, curling around Bilbo's face in fragrant clouds and mixing amiably with the mint scent of Bilbo's soap.

“UHhhh!” Kee cried, much more active and awake than he’d been before. “Feeee!” His voice, already clearer, rang out plaintively from the sink.

“Kee!” Fee yelped at Bilbo’s feet, staring at the counter with sparking worry in his eyes. It towered over his head, keeping Kee was out of sight of the blond dwarfling-- and causing immediate distress between the two brothers.

Pressing his lips together, Bilbo paused and lifted the tiny dwarfling with one arm up to sit on the counter.

“Stay there, Fee,” he said warningly as the dwarf child sighed, relieved, at the sight of his brother in the sink. “Don’t fall off. You’ll get a bath too after I finish Kee.”

Suddenly the dwarfling’s nose wrinkled in an unhappy expression so impossibly adorable it could bring a grown hobbit to tears. Bilbo fought the urge to smile but found he couldn’t help it, and he chuckled. “Adorable.”

Fee huffed with indignance at the comment, and it was refreshingly childlike. The hobbit went back to gently washing the little Kee in the sink, charmed by the dwarflings' newfound liveliness, and watched as Kee purred delightedly at the bubbles floating around his belly. The effect of the lukewarm water was instantaneous on the dark-haired dwarfling, and he soon sat up by himself in the sink, splashing half-heartedly at the bubbles with twinkling eyes and happy burbles.

“Bubboos,” Kee cried, his voice high pitched with glee. “Bubboos!”

"Bubboos,  _Bilbo,_ " Fee corrected, almost like a parent, and Kee giggled.

"Bibo. Bibobubboos."

 _Eru strike me, it's too cute,_ Bilbo thought, beaming as he rinsed Kee’s dark, wavy hair. The hobbit tenderly washed Kee's hair with slow hands, making it even darker as it wetted, and he rubbed a tiny bit of lye soap in his hair to lather it into foam.

Kee was not pleased. He whined and tried to pull away, but Bilbo was firm and instead of deterring him it powered him on, relieved by the life that flared again in the little dwarf toddler.

“No soapy! No no nooo-” Kee suddenly cried, lurching in the hobbit’s grasp and squeezing his eyes shut. Bilbo held tight, refusing to let the tiny body slip through his grip, and Kee whined again.

Fee just watched and made another soft sighing noise from his seat on the counter, and said, solidly, “Kee.”

Kee paused, looking at his brother with his dark eyes suddenly closed off. He immediately ceased struggling and fell quiet, obediently allowing the hobbit to rinse out his soapy locks, and the hobbit loosened his hold with growing astonishment. The level of discipline in these children, and the bond between them...it was amazing, concerning, and sweet all at once. Shaking his head, Bilbo quickly gave the two quiet dwarflings a warm smile to show that no harm was done. When he was finished, Bilbo scooped up the littler dwarf in a warm towel, proceeding to rub him dry. He chuckled as Kee protested against the drying scrub against his hair, huffing.

“There you go, Kee. Feel any better, love?” Kee pouted, his lip sticking out, and he laughed at the utter adorableness. “C’mon, now, don’t give me that look.” He scooped the child up and almost without a thought he nuzzled into the toweled Kee’s fuzzy soft hair.

Kee made a noise, then, briefly plaintive, and suddenly he was burrowing into Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo worriedly made to put him down, scared he might have frightened him, but Kee clung to him all the tighter. He snuffled pitifully, and Bilbo planted a soft kiss on the babe’s forehead as his features scrunched up as if to cry.

“There there, little one. I’ve got you. It's alright.” He rubbed Kee’s back tenderly, turning to Fee, only to find him staring sorrowfully at them, blue eyes glittering with tears. Bilbo walked over to the counter and soon both of them were in his arms, clinging to him, trembling, and the hobbit closed his eyes, kissing them both on the forehead as he sent a prayer to his maker to keep them safe. It was too much, so much heartache, and Bilbo bled for them.

Nothing more could happen to these boys. _Nothing._ And there would be nothing that could spare the perpetrators from Bilbo’s wrath, if he ever saw them again. 

///

Fee’s bath was notably easier than his little brother’s. Bilbo tutted worriedly at the blooming dark bruises on the child’s pale form, but they looked old and Fee barely noticed them, instead sighing contentedly as the warm water and bubbles lapped over his cool form. Toweling him off, Fee’s hair puffed up wildly, fuzzy and soft like his brother’s but more boundless, and Bilbo was tickled pink at how the little dwarf giggled and batted his floating, wispy locks. He kissed the purpling skin on Fee’s shoulders dotingly-- “kisses are like biscuits, they make everything better”-- as he dressed him in the clothes the healer had brought by earlier, staving off any sense of sadness. The desire to care for them had grown so strong now that he even thought of his mother, and the way she cared for him when ill. For the first time in a long time Bilbo’s heart did not crack in two at the thought of Belladonna, and as memories of her caring smile and gentle hands swept through him, he found his gaze settling fondly on the two now dry and clean dwarflings sitting on his couch and peering at him, wiggling experimentally in their new clothes. He smiled, and feeling a sudden weight rise off his shoulders he set about to feeding them.

“Hungry, lads?” he asked, grinning at the sight of them in copper-buttoned shirts of crisp cotton, and emerald and red trousers lined in gold at the seams. Kee donned the red and Fee the emerald, and they seemed to like the ensembles alright. Bilbo would have to bring them to the tailor whenever the weather cleared, because even though they were the right size, the dwarflings were thin, and the fabric hung loosely from their tiny forms. The hobbitish clothes looked odd on the younglings, completely different than the clothes they were wearing earlier, and their fuzzy long hair hung down to their shoulders. When he’d bathed them he had done his best to keep their braids intact, but Bilbo was unfamiliar with braiding hair, so a few had come undone to leave curly strands of rich blond and brown.

Bilbo smiled. With their big brown and blue eyes and wild hair, dressed in rich greens and reds and soft cotton shirts, they were unutterably adorable.

“Fee, Kee? What would you like to eat?”

Blond little Fee looked at up at him almost in surprise, and Kee’s stomach gurgled almost on cue, but they only stared at him. In response, he grabbed them by the hands and led them into the kitchen. Kee toddled along beside his cabinets, walking where Bilbo had worried before that he could not, and Bilbo smiled encouragingly as he led them into the food pantry. Their eyes widened comically at the sight of his stores, staring starry-eyed at all the treats and breads and fruits and cheeses, and Bilbo felt both heartened and saddened by their reaction. The dwarflings were so tiny and pale in the candlelit light of the hobbit-hole. It was naive to think they’d both been fed to their fullest satisfaction in their captivity.

Scooping up some plates and cups, he placed them on the dining table and brought out bread, crackers, cheeses, and fruit from his garden, along with a pitcher of berry juice. The food the healer had brought was of the same stock, with soft crackers for easy eating, small baby carrots for later, and herbs for chamomile tea. Fee stared at his plate, unmoving, after Bilbo lifted him onto the table. Kee was placed in his lap, and he too stared at the collection of food littering the table in blank silence.

“It’s alright, dears,” he said gently. He picked up a small bushel of berries and plucked on in his mouth, making an exaggerated ‘mmm’ noise as he chewed, then placed a small strawberry in Fee’s tiny hand. “Feel free to eat whatever you want.”

Fee waged a staring match with Bilbo again, this time with eyes flickering to the juicy red fruit in his hand, and as Bilbo nodded with a smile, hunger eventually won out. The dwarfling lifted to the fruit to his mouth and nibbled on it, the taste fueling him to gnaw the fruit completely to the stem. He blinked rapidly at the green stem, almost surprised, but even more so when Bilbo handed him another.

"Go on,” he said. “Eat all you want, Fee. Would you like some juice?”

Soon the dwarflings were eating, Bilbo starting Kee on the soft crackers and small sips of juice, and Fee commandeered his own glass and ate small slices of bread with bits of cheese. He appeared to like the bread more than the fruit, seeming almost unfamiliar with the colorful berries, but Kee ate everything Bilbo gave him with the abandon of a hungry toddler.

“Yummmm,” Kee hummed, making the hobbit smile as he gnawed delightedly at a cracker. “Cwakrrrr.” The word came out muffled through the bits of cracker in his mouth, sending crumbs flying, and Fee giggled. Then he looked up at Bilbo, eyes shining, and said as clearly as he could, “Fank you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo smiled, melting, and reached out an arm. Fee obligingly drew closer, snuggling into the hobbit’s side. “Oh, Fee. It’s the least I could do.” He dropped a kiss on Fee’s soft forehead and ruffled his mass of fluffy blond hair.

The young dwarfling paused, his small features creasing in thought. “Feeee...leeee,” Fee tried, his brow wrinkling. The hobbit blinked, looking down at the dwarf in confusion.

“I’s...Fi. Li.”

“Fíli?” Bilbo said tentatively, raising a brow, and the dwarfling bobbed his head. “And Kee?” he said, pointing to the happily munching toddler.

“Lee. Kee lee.”

“Fíli and Kíli,” he said, and both dwarflings paused to look at him, eyes bright with surprise and something like familiarity. He smiled, feeling something break and rebuild inside his chest. He felt glad to be able to give them their names; it was like returning something they had lost to them.

“Well, Masters Fíli and Kíli. Welcome to Bag End.” As Kíli beamed at him in a sudden burst of childish joy, his tiny teeth like little pearls in his mouth, Bilbo felt his heart swell like the sun inside his chest. Fíli buried his head into the hobbit’s chest, exhaling gently into the warm cotton of Bilbo’s shirt, and the hobbit’s throat closed up with a literal mountain of affection.

“Come then, little dears,” he said, clearing his throat and grinning. “How would you like a treat?”

And that is how Bilbo Baggins ran out of his award winning petal cakes and how he, the young new Master of Bag End, became the sole guardian of two little dwarfling boys.


	4. glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo does his best to keep the dwarflings happy for the moment, but unanswered questions won't leave him be for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SO SO SO sorry for the late chapter. It's been months, I know, I'm so so sorry. But things happen, school, exams, friends, drama, summer. I don't have as much time for writing that I used to. But here it is. And there is more to come. Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
>  
> 
> as for Kee's word for mother, I've heard different things from different Khuzdul dictionaries. Some say Ama, some say Amad, some say khagun. I really wasn't sure, but for Bilbo's interpretation and his familiarity with Sindarin, I used Ama (operating under the assumption that 'ama' would be 'Momma' and 'amad' would be more like 'Mother').

**chapter three**

**glass**

The hours passed swiftly. The younglings were quiet, but with each passing moment they seemed like real children again, smiling softly and giggling with Bilbo’s every encouraging action. He lived to see that light flare in eyes, longed to see them laugh, but every time the joy stopped and they remembered how they came here, the hobbit felt useless. Each crack of lightning made them jump like startled rabbits, with unknown memories of horror flickering across their faces like pieces of shattered glass that could never be completely found and swept away. Bilbo could do nothing in those moments-- nothing but hold them, tickle them, pet their hair and sing in their ear all the lullabies his mother used to croon to him when he was little. It was all he could do...so that is what he did. It never felt like enough.

He tried to give them a day of peace. He did not push for details, for information. He didn’t ask how they came here or who they were or who their parents were. He did not ask where they were from or who took them or anything that would drive the happiness from their eyes. He just stayed with them. Fed them, kept them warm. Gave them little toys and nuzzled their hair and did everything in his power to keep them content.

_At least for today._

///

The only time Bilbo dared leave the children alone was when he paused long enough in his attempts to keep them smiling and active to realize that, in fact, he had no idea what in the name of Eru was going on. All of the unanswered questions and fears had suddenly surged in his mind like a geyser, nearly swallowing him whole, and before the fear or panic could show on his face he quickly excused himself, hastily telling the children that he was going to take a shower. Fee and Kee had stared at him for a minute, instant worry glinting in their eyes, and he had to tell them the door was locked and that he would only be gone for a couple of minutes multiple times before leaving them in the bedroom where they played on the bed; and even with his own consolation, he’d still felt guilty as their eyes followed him when he left with a change of clothes to the powder room.

The second he was by himself, he closed the bathroom door and slunk to the ground, his head in his hands. Tears pricked behind his eyes, blurring his vision in hot frustration, and in between his ears his mind was a whirling storm to rival the tempest outside.

These two little dwarflings, sweet little Fíli and Kíli, they’d been _taken_. Taken from their homes, from somewhere far away from the Shire and across Middle Earth-- taken from a family, from a home, and when he’d found them they’d been so _scared--_

These innocent little younglings were being hunted by dwarves. Vicious, angry, ruthless dwarves, the likes of which the Shire-- never mind Bilbo Baggins, who’d never ventured a step past Bree-- had never seen before, and from what Bilbo had heard, they cared little for the ramifications of getting them back. _Perhaps they think them dead_ , Bilbo thought wildly, his heartbeat quickening in his chest, for that would truly be the best outcome. The dwarves would not return to the Shire to search for Fíli and Kíli if they were thought lost, nor would they assail Bag End with axes and blades to annihilate everything in their path. A flash of what they could do, cultivated in Bilbo’s fear and worry, flashed behind his eyes and Bilbo tightened his fists, willing away the picture of Hobbiton burning, of hobbits screaming and Fíli and Kíli sobbing as they were taken yet again, wrenched from his arms as he failed to keep them safe. He filled his mind with calming images to restrain himself, refusing to let his fears engulf him, and instead thought of the look of hope that glistened in Fíli’s and Kíli’s eyes at lunch, at the warmth that had flared there. He'd damned if he ever saw that hope fade again from their eyes.

But...Fee and Kee were in danger, even now, tucked away in the warmth and safety of his hobbit hole. The idea plucked at his nerves like fingers across a harp, sending painful little notes of worry and apprehension down his spine.

Bilbo swallowed, his mind wandering to the children’s fear and appearance when he’d found them, sodden and bedraggled in the rain like two abandoned little kittens in desperate need of aid, and something within his heart shifted. Fear gave way to anger, anger gave way to protectiveness, protectiveness paired with will and as Bilbo got to his feet, wiping away hot tears, he layered his own resolve in steel.

It would take more than a few sinister dwarves to take Fee and Kee this time; there was no chance in the Void that another hand would touch a hair on their heads. If it was the last thing he did he would shield them, protect them, and suddenly his mind was awhirl with what he should- what he _needed_ to do.

Bilbo bathed quickly, rinsing the grime and oil from his hair in body with haste, and with his curls frizzy and preposterously unmanageable and his clothes clinging like a second skin to his damp form he hurried from the bathroom to check on the boys. A plan had formulated in his mind, a sturdy plan, and all he had to do now was put it into action.

But he would not do so without telling Fíli or Kíli. They’d been in the dark so long; he could not protect them to his best ability if they were left unaware-- or at least, that's what he told himself. They were children, yes, but he had so very little of their trust to spare. He wanted to be as open as he could with them.

He entered his room with a stout heart. “Boys.”

They had been looking at him since he’d come in, almost as if they hadn’t stopped staring at the bedroom doorway since he’d left. Like they’d been waiting for him to arrive. The only difference in the scene itself from when he left-- that being the two dwarflings sitting on Bilbo’s bed, swathed in bedsheets, playing with a couple of whittled figures he’d had since he was a fauntling-- was that Kee had snuggled up closer to his brother, his little body curling towards his brother’s almost unconsciously.

“Told you I wouldn’t be long. I needed a good bath-- I was getting a bit smelly, eh?” He smiled, encouragingly, and was rewarded generously with a small giggle from Fee and a wrinkled nose and nod from Kee.

“Oh, you think so too, you little scamp?” Bilbo said, raising an eyebrow, and before Kee could blink Bilbo was rubbing his damp curls all over Kíli’s blanketed form, making the little dwarfling squeal. Fee laughed, his tiny voice a bell, and Bilbo returned the favor by shaking his head like a demented puppy dog and spritzing water across the entire bed, catching both of the dwarflings in the crossfire. They squealed in childish indignation and delight, flailing in the sheets and shoving Bilbo’s head away with their tiny hands, and all the while Bilbo laughed and felt something glow inside him. He felt like a tween again, lost in the joy of childhood, unburdened with the reality of grief and loneliness, happy to scamper around and roll down green hills and get lost in the scent of daffodils and snapdragons when their petals got caught in his hair...

 _I have to show them East Farthing,_ he thought, smiling at the memory of those warm hills and tall trees, branches arched to the blue sky like little people sharing shoulders. When the storm ended and the sun came back the Shire would be alive again, the flowers would bloom. Fíli and Kíli would love it, just as all the other little fauntlings did, and Bilbo just wanted them to smile and play amongst all those flowers in the sun--

 _But they aren’t fauntlings_ , his thoughts whispered, and everything around him broke like a worn leather cord, with an audible _snap_ that echoed in his ears. His smile disappeared from his face, mist under the morning sun. They weren’t fauntlings, the were dwarflings. They belonged to someone else, with another family, they weren’t for the Shire, and Bilbo had to get them _home._

 _Foolish Baggins,_ Bilbo thought, because what was he thinking? His first priority had to be keeping Kíli and Fíli safe, and getting them to their parents, not giving them a _tour_ of the Shire! They shouldn’t be here any longer than they have to, their parents- Eru above, their _parents-_ they had to be desperately searching for these boys- of all the selfish, addle-minded things-

“Ms'ter Bilbo?” Fee said, quietly, and Bilbo blinked because it was the first time Fee had gotten his name right, in the few times the dwarfling had ever said it. And it was the first time he’d even been called _Mister_ Bilbo by a child. He became all too aware he wasn’t a tween anymore, and although he wasn’t but a few years from his coming of age, it did not make him feel younger.

“Bilbo, please, Fee, you don’t have to call me Mister.” He tried to smile at the little dwarf, whose stony blue eyes had suddenly sobered. There had been a tentativeness in Fíli’s voice that had graced Bilbo’s heart like a raw wound, and he felt pressed to lighten that weight the little dwarf carried. He could see it, even now, the dread. Even when the two dwarflings had relaxed around him enough to laugh and smile.

He’d only had them in his home for little over a day.

They’d been with the others for...the Valar _knew_ how long.

Bilbo felt his strength waver a bit in his chest, thinking on that. His mouth felt all wrong in its smile, like if one peered hard enough they could see cracks there, and he felt guilty somehow, exposing the children to its falseness. They were so observant, even as younglings, they could surely see a fake smile when they spotted one. Maker knew they’d been through enough; they didn’t need, or deserve, any more lies.

He smiled again, thinking of their giggles, and it was better. He nuzzled Fee’s incomparably soft hair as he did so, gruffening up his voice playfully. “Only sorry old codgers like me can call me mister.” Fíli finally giggled, that sweet little light flickering once again in his eyes, and it did right by Bilbo’s heart.

But the youngest dwarfling didn’t find that funny at all. He frowned, his little mouth tipping down in what couldn’t be an adorable frown but inevitably was. “You’s not old!” Kíli protested, his big brown eyes widening into an expression so taken aback it was almost comical. “You’s nice hobby, Bibo!”

And Bilbo laughed then, he couldn’t help it, it was just too adorable. Because of course, to Kee and his inarguable logic, being old and nice were two immediately contrasting qualities that didn’t coincide. Old people were mean, and if Bilbo was nice he couldn’t be old. Combined with Kee’s indignance and pronunciation of ‘hobbit’ it was just so precious that Bilbo Baggins couldn’t stand it. He pitched from his sitting position on the bed into the pillows, laughing so hard it trembled through his entire short frame, while Fee stared and giggled and Kee blinked like a baby owl.

“Ah,” Bilbo gasped, as soon as he had oxygen to spare, and wiped a tear from his eye. “Thank you very much, Kee. I’m glad to hear you don’t think of me as mean and old. I wouldn’t be a very good host if I were, would I?” He straightened, propping himself up on an arm, and ruffled Kee’s downy dark hair.

“Bibo nice,” Kee agreed, nodding as though everything made sense. “Old dwawows mean. Hurt Fee and Ama.” He paused, as if realizing something. “Fee, Fee, we see Ama?” His little voice was hopeful, tinged with excitement, but it was short-lived.

Fee suddenly tensed, becoming stone, and Bilbo stopped laughing. ‘Ama’ could only be mother. It sounded so similar to Sindarin for mother, maybe it was Dwarvish, supposing there was such a language. So far, Kee and Fee seemed adept enough at Common.

Kee wanted his mother. Bilbo remembered why he’d come to speak with the boys in the first place and felt whatever good mood he’d built with them blow away to dust. Fee was moving to hold his brother, his expression a heartbreaking one, but Bilbo got there first. He had both boys in his arms before they could blink, the need to just hold them consuming his very soul. They snuggled deeper into his arms, fitting together there like puzzle pieces, but Bilbo could feel the tenseness in their minute forms like drawn bow strings.

“Little loves,” he said gently. “I want to protect you, you know that? I need you to understand that I will do anything to keep you two safe. Alright?”

Two pairs of orbs-- blue marble and warm chestnut-- looked back at him, and they both nodded in silence. Fee was once again that dwarfling Bilbo had found in the storm, his sky blue gaze unreadable, slate. The hobbit swallowed and continued, meeting each of them in the eyes, wordlessly enforcing his sincerity.

“But...but in order to protect you, I have to know a few things. I found you two in that storm yesterday and I know very very little about you. I brought you here, to Bag End, and I want to keep doing that. So.” He cleared his throat in a nervous sort of titter. “Is it okay if I...ask you a few questions?” Bilbo’s words more or less tumbled from his mouth, his nervousness building at the bottom of his stomach in a ball. It shouldn’t be so difficult talking to them, to these children, but the pain that echoed in their sweet eyes, he just couldn't bear to see it. He wanted to keep them as content as he could, Eru forbid that he cause them heartache.

Kee fell silent, looking at his brother, but Fíli nodded again. Sucking in a breath, the hobbit tentatively continued.

“Well...where are you from?” He decided to start with something easy, in all senses of the word.

Fee swallowed, gnawing on his lip. His eyes fell from the hobbit’s wandering towards to wall. Bilbo waited for answer, holding no desire to pressure him, and when the dwarfling finally answered his voice was soft and mumbled. “Mountain,” he said. “Big mountain...Errbor.”

Errbor. Bilbo felt his heart pick up twice its normal speed in his chest stealing his breath. Errbor...Erebor.

The Lonely Mountain.

 _“Erebor,”_ he breathed. “You...you’re from Erebor?”

An image of an old family map flickered in Bilbo’s mind. The Lonely Mountain, the dwarf kingdom of Erebor, far across the Misty Mountains and past even Greenwood, the eastern realm of the Elves. _So far away_.

Fíli nodded, so slightly it was almost imperceptible. His gaze was far away, undoubtedly across the mountains, and not for the first time Bilbo was struck with how old those stony blue eyes made Fee seem.

“I see,” Bilbo said, and his voice was reedy. He cleared it, quickly, and reached for another question in the mess of his mind. Several wormed their way apparent and he plucked one quickly from the stew of his mind. “Do you...you have parents? Family, who are looking for you?” He winced once the words left his mouth but he could not regret asking. Fee swallowed and remained quiet, but this time Kee piped up with remarkable eagerness.

“Amad!” he cried, and Bilbo smiled to hide the yawn of sadness in his heart. How he longed to give these little dwarves their mother. He felt a sympathy for her, wherever she was, because he could not imagine losing Fee and Kee for so long-- because if they were taken from Erebor, they had been with the cruel dwarves the entire journey from there to the Shire.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in horror as Kíli continued, his voice cheerful. “And Unkin! Unkin!”

Fíli seemed to snap back to life and for once, true hope glistened his eyes.

“Unkin bash ‘em.” Bilbo stared at the blond dwarfling as his little chest puffed up, nodding furiously. “He will. He find us. Like Bilbo.”

The hobbit smiled gently at the two, who looked so taken and encouraged by the idea of ‘Unkin’. They idolized him, no doubt-- their uncle, assumedly, Bilbo thought-- and their confidence they had in this nameless family member was heartwarming to the young Master Baggins. They made no mention of a father, and being no stranger to the loss of one he did not mention it. This ‘Unkin’ was perhaps a patriarchal figure to them, at any rate, and Bilbo was glad they had this dwarf in their life.

“That’s right, I’m sure he’ll find us. Listen, Fee, Kee.” They paused in their excitement, turning to look at Bilbo once more with seriousness. He kept his smile firm, letting their hope spread to his heart like a balm.

“I’m going to send word to Erebor with a Rider of the North-- he will journey there and tell people there I’ve found you. He will find your parents and tell them you’re here. You little dwarves will be back with your family in no time, I promise.”

When he finished, Kee’s smile was bright enough to rival the sun, and Fee’s was its every equal. Bilbo felt his heart poised to burst as they cried out with sudden, wonderful joy, squealing with delight and hugging the hobbit so very tightly that he barely managed not to fall apart in their arms. Bilbo realized then, as he hugged them back just as gleefully and laughed into their hair, he hadn’t been this happy for a long time. His eyes pricked with warm tears of wonder. These dwarflings had just _appeared,_ swept into his heart in the space of a single day, and they had been all he needed to feel whole again.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one to have been saved that night in the storm.

When Fíli looked back at him, his baby cheeks flushed pink and his eyes still glittering with tears of happiness and hope, with his brother practically screeching exultations of “YAY YAY HOME HOME!”, Bilbo knew he had found the light again.

 _Yavanna bless and carry them_ , his mind whispered, smiling so wide his cheeks ached.

“But...wha ‘bout them?” Fíli breathed, as his brother giggled and squealed into Bilbo’s side. Bilbo’s smile faltered, but he shifted on the bed and rearranged the childlings in his lap, putting one on each folded knee and nodding.

 _Them_. Ah, yes. Happiness could not be everlasting with that threat lingering there, the danger of those _damned_ dwarves lingering over them like a malignant shadow. But that could be alleviated, if Bilbo’s plan went correctly. All he had to do was implement it.

“I have a plan. And you needn’t worry about them.” Fíli’s eyes were questioning and Kee looked just confused, but Bilbo leaned in as if to tell them a secret. Their eyes widened, if possible, even more, and he purposefully dropped his voice to a whisper. He wasn’t known in the Shire as a storyteller for nothing, and the fauntlings of Hobbiton knew that all too well-- he was a beloved favorite of theirs, if not of their respectable parents. If he could make it better for Kili and Fili by making it a story instead of cruel reality, Bilbo would do it in a heartbeat. “I’ve got a secret plan that’ll stop them for good. You want to know what it is?”

They nodded eagerly, and without further ado he went about explaining his plan as kindly and simply as he could, leaving out the dangers and worries and giving his voice such a confidence that the worry would vanish from them completely. And soon they were smiling and went he got to the part about their Unkin bashing in nasty heads-- a fantastic bit of fiction a little bit too literal for Bilbo himself but something he believed the dwarflings would appreciate as children, natural lovers of heroic stories as they were-- they were so giddy that they could've been fauntlings catching a glimpse of an old wizard's fireworks.

That was enough to send the hobbit working on action right away, if not with his hands but with his mind, and even as the dwarflings curled up to him for another night’s sleep his heart grew in his chest and spun with ways that he was going to get Kee and Fee home.

He fell asleep with the image of them looking at him with that joy and awe- as if he were the most amazing adventurer they’d ever seen instead of just a little lonely hobbit- behind his lids, and his sleep was soft and dreamless.


	5. sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo puts his plan in the action, and a wrench in the works turns into a slightly annoying tool named Lobelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahaha long time no see, guys ahaha funny seeing you here IthinkI'lljustgonowbye  
> /flees in shame/

**chapter four**

**sun**

When Bilbo awoke the next morning with two dwarflings pressed against his chest, entangled in woolen blankets, the first thing he realized was that it was quiet. That, aside from the soft puffs of breath emanating from tiny lungs, Bag End was silent. Straining his ears to make sure he was attuned to what he dared not hope-- or rather, did-- he sucked in a quiet, scarcely hopeful breath. There was no sound, no roar, no creaking or moaning in the house, and the morning was as mute as ever.

No thunder.

No rain.

Nothing.

Bilbo stilled in his bed, barely contained from leaping to his feet and running to a window. _No rain, no rain, it’s stopped raining, it’s stopped_ raining...! His eyes flew open to see the immediate sight of Kee softly snoring, his little mouth slack against a pillow with his brother’s arm slung over him; Fíli snuffled, snorting gently like a stirring pup, and stilled again, continuing to drool contentedly into his brother’s downy dark hair. Bilbo, taking care not to make another sound-- Eru forbid he disturb the most adorable thing he’d ever seen-- felt the largest, softest smile curl his lips.

Everything felt perfect. The rain had stopped, the children were asleep, finally free from danger or fear in the safety of their dreams. And Bilbo was ready to do everything in his power to get them home again.

And Yavanna be praised, _the rain had stopped!_ Bilbo felt like crying out with joy in the old call of youth, hooting like horned owl before running after his friends in the Farthing wood to play a new game of Elven Tag or Quiet Mouse. Something in his heart soared to know that the sun was out again-

_\- the sun._

Bilbo vibrated, moving as silently as he could out of the sheets and to his living room, as quiet as a hobbit could ever take pride in being. Soon he was almost shaking with excitement-- he could see a slice of golden light, he could see it through the window pane and beaming down on the floor-- and he threw open the curtains and _light._

He was bathed in it, pure warmth, and light cascaded over him in blinding gold, flowing across his skin like warm water after a night in the snow. It was warm, so warm, like a mother's embrace, and he could almost taste in on his tongue, the serenity of sunlight a myriad of notes drumming through his chest like a song. A smile erupted over his face, euphoric, and he was blinded with yellow. True laughter bubble out of his throat for the first time in what felt like years. Something had been missing and returned, feeling like reunited with a friend, or coming home from a journey-- remembering something that was forgotten. The sun was _home_ , and he was whole again. He was giddy, full of air and free space, and he practically pressed his nose to the glass to peer outside. His heart sang with what it saw.

The Shire was _green_ again.

Rich emerald flooded his vision, the grass and hills of Hobbiton visible once more and glowing merrily in the long missed caress of sunlight. Delicate grass blades swayed in the gentle wind, and winding puddles scattered along the hills reflected light like miniature suns themselves, water turned to pools of tranquil gold in the early morn. The mud was thick and gardens were for the most part submerged, but it was like the Earth was alive again, awakening from a darkness, and it could be seen clear as day in the form of hobbits finally moving about again, emerging from their homes and trekking through the mud as pleased as could be, happy smiles shimmering with an unrivaled brightness. Laughter and mirth was abundant, blooming, and the hobbits were celebrating-- and Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End, was no exception. He laughed again, the sound coming easily from his lips, and he gave a little excited tremble as the urge to dash out the door threatened to undo him.

But he couldn’t leave the house, not yet. Smiling at the thought of the childlings finally touching and playing in the sun, he scurried to the bedroom, another bundle of giggles behind his lips as he crept up to the still slumbering Fee and Kee. Mischief playing in his eyes, he extended a finger and trailed it down the pale expanse of Fee’s exposed foot, tickling it down the soft arch with a playful smile.

“Time to wake up, Fee,” he whispered, leaning over Kee and stopping to sing softly, “Time to wake up, little ones.”

Fee stirred, weakly kicking out at first at the tickling of his feet, slowly growing stronger as he awoke. Soon a peal of light bells echoed over the bedroom as Fíli began to giggle, louder as he became more aware.

“B-B-Bilboo!” he giggled when he had the air to gasp, flailing despite the hobbit’s firm grasp on his foot. Bilbo laughed heartily, and set his sights on the youngest, who was mumbling sleepy nonsense under his breath and blinking sluggishly.

“Feeee?” he groaned, his little voice almost disgruntled. Bilbo only laughed again-- because it was impossibly cute, truly-- and began to tickle the little dwarfling within an inch of his life. The air was soon filled with shrieks and squeals of delight and protest; Fee suddenly tottled to his feet on the bed with a heroic “I SAVE YOU KEE!” and promptly tackled Bilbo’s arm, clinging to it to the best of his ability to inhibit the dreaded tickling. The hobbit could only roar with laughter until he turned pink in the face and it was only until he ran out of breath-- with a blond dwarfling clambering on his shoulder to holler a warrior cry in his ear, and the other flailing on the covers and batting the hand that tickled the air from his chest with delight-- that he granted them mercy.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Bilbo more or less wheezed, with no loss of energy or mirth. He scooped them up in his arms-- they were surprisingly light for their size-- and they squealed once again, wriggling in his arms. “Come along, you scamps, I want to show you something.” He hurried to living room, excitement making him rush and bounce the giggling younglings in his grasp. He set them down in a heap by the door, their bare feet whispering along Bilbo’s wood floor. He bent down quickly and said, “Do you two want to see something pretty?” Kee nodded eagerly and Fee looked slightly bemused-- Bilbo laughed, because that was simply the age of little boys where pretty things were girly things and therefore uncertain territory.

“Okay, then,” he said, grinning like a loon. He scooted them backwards a bit, positioning them just right of the the door, and once there Bilbo hurried to the door and gave it a mighty swing, sending light rushing through Bag End. However, Bilbo’s smile immediately plummeted, and as Kee and Fee silently peeked around the edge of the door they saw something that not even little Kee would deem as ‘pretty’.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

The grating voice, just shy of a squawk in volume, ripped through the air and sent Bilbo startling a step back. A figure swept into the room, sweeping long curls over her shoulder in a huff, and looked at the Master Baggins with an expression set to curdle milk. Bilbo gaped in surprise, swallowing harshly when he recognized who was standing in his doorstep, and the dwarflings skittered behind his door, hiding immediately at the sight.

_Yavanna give me strength._

Lobelia Bracegirdle put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Just what in all of Middle Earth do you think you are doing?”

///

“Ahhh, L-Lobelia,” he stammered, staring at the female hobbit with wide eyes and doing his best to signal to Fee and Kee to keep hidden by jerking his hands and flicking his gaze to the side. _Why is she here, oh, why is she here now?_ the fauntling in him moaned. “W-What brings you h-here?”

“I came out of the goodness of my heart, Bilbo Baggins!” she retorted, and if that wasn’t the most shocking thing he’d ever heard come out of her mouth Bilbo was a stuffed boar. “Your reputation is sinking into the mud faster than my prized tomatoes and I’m here to tell you to do something about it! Really, Bilbo, gallivanting out in the rain? Shameful!” Her face pinched in absolute disgust, her voice sliding through an octave and making Bilbo wince. _But how-_

“Yes, I do know about your strange walk in the storm that night, don’t look so surprised!” For a moment she looked enormously pleased with herself, but she managed to turn that pride into sharp disdain. “You looked like a hobbit half out of his mind last night, and really, it’s such an unHobbitish business, so inappropriate for such a high-standing class of gentlehobbit-- not that you’ve been such as of late, really, you’re shaming the whole community with your...” Her nose crinkled as if the word was unsavory, “... _depression_. It’s quite unbecoming, really, and you had to make it worse by acting like a mad loon!”

“Lobelia, please,” Bilbo started, voice almost pleading, his eyes flicking from the dwarflings-- who were quivering behind his tall green door and staring at Lobelia like she was some psychotic wraith-- and back to his unexpected guest, whose eyes were boring down on him like a pair of chestnut knives. Bilbo should have expected her wrath at sometime or another, but right now, with Fee and Kee, Eru knows what she would do, probably run away screaming into Hobbiton that they’d been invaded by dwarves--

_Hang on..._

“Don’t you Lobelia me,” she snapped fiercely, jabbing a sharp finger in his direction, “You obviously care nothing for the community’s reputation, I mean, really, the whole of Hobbiton knows by now that you were lumbering about in the middle of the deluge that night like a demented badger! After being holed up in your home for _months_ like an- an _unsociable!_ Bilbo, you’ve become such a- such a-” The hobbit lass paused, her face beet red and eyes blazing, as if summoning her strength, and eventually spat out, “-such a _recluse_. It’s absolutely disgraceful! Typical of a son of a Took, but really, what were we to expect-”

Months ago Bilbo would have been enraged by it. The remark on his mother, the blatant disrespect for the dead, the snub on someone that Bilbo had dearly loved and still grieved everyday by _Lobelia Bracegirdle_ , of all bloody people, who had _no_ right-

But now? With little Fíli and Kíli watching? Something in his heart was built, creating something that was not quite a wall but enough, a protective barrier to keep his anger in check and fill him with something unfamiliar. A rush of insight sped through him as he realized what it was- acceptance. Acceptance, paired with something akin to...indifference. In a frozen moment, the hobbit almost outright laughed at Lobelia, at her ignorance. How inconsequential it was, how useless her insults. Belladonna Baggins, his mother, was one of the most wonderful hobbits to ever live and the Shire had been _lucky_ to have her, _blessed_ to have been graced with moments of her presence-- and nothing Lobelia could say would change that or what Bilbo thought of her, so... why _should_ it anger him? She was a spiteful little hobbit who could only irritate, whereas Belladonna had been beautiful and lovely, and had only inspired love and awe.

_It didn’t matter._

With that, Bilbo sucked in a breath and held up his hands.

“Lobelia,” he said. His voice was collected, ever polite, and he smiled genially. “If you would allow me to speak, I’d happily explain my...odd behavior. Please, come in and sit. I’d offer you tea, but I’m afraid I’ve only mint and from what I can remember you rather dislike it, my deepest apologies.”

Lobelia started, looking slapped silly by Bilbo’s sudden change in tone, and Bilbo didn’t even try to taper off the light feeling of satisfaction that bloomed inside him at her surprise. He cleared his throat and, his mind working like a master at a trade, he leaned forward and looked around obviously, making his gaze skirting and conspiratory. Lobelia, ever the perceptive hobbit lass whenever secrets were involved, leaned forward similarly, her eyes suddenly gleaming with a predatory light.

“I have something to tell you about that night,” he whispered, cupping his hand to his lips and making his voice nearly tremble with excitement. He felt the little dwarflings’ eyes upon him and he nearly risked giving them a wink. “Can I trust you with a secret, dear Lobelia? It’s about something truly... _scandalous._ ”

“Oh, Bilbo,” she said, looking almost flattered for a moment before turning the light in her eyes into something wicked. Bilbo almost pitied her there, missing the friend he used to have in her and the nights they used to share-- with Otho Sackville-Baggins and their merry troop of fauntlings-- in the forests and the stories they shared of the Ages of old. “You can trust me with anything.”

Bilbo smiled naively at her, giving his voice palpable relief, and he was glad when the guilt he thought he would feel did not come. He gestured to the living room, indicating for her to come along and follow, sparing a surreptitious look at the dwarflings that still hid behind his round front door. “Good. You’re never going to believe what I saw--”

And so went, awkwardly, the first part of his plan (although, he allowed, in a different order than he anticipated).

///

Lobelia was almost beside herself when she left, nearly drunk with the amount of gossip Bilbo shared with her, and her eagerness was almost too obvious as she hurried out the door, her smile too sharp and her eyes too cold. She sped out of Bag End like a mad pony, inevitably to spread every single bit of information Bilbo had told her in supposed confidence. She barely managed to squeeze in a lustful look at Bag End before she bustled off, muttering a dazed goodbye to the hobbit who’d entertained her for the past quarter of an hour. Bilbo didn’t bother watching her go; he promptly closed the door behind him and let a gust of wind a fly from his lips, refusing to let himself think about the old friend he used to have in the hobbit lass. It had been years since relations between he and Lobelia had been kind. She was once a jovial fauntling, nice like all of his friends but bright and fiery, a truly high-spirited girl with the prettiest curls in all the Shire. But sometime in the years where Bilbo had been a tween something inside Lobelia’s heart had turned cold and spiteful, envious almost, and the friendship they had once shared had withered like a dying flower when her once kind looks turned to glares and her giggles to snide comments.

Bilbo had been saddened by the lost of her as a friend as much as he’d been bewildered by it, but he had been forced to accept it when he’d caught her one day trying to steal his mother’s silver spoons in the wrappings of her skirt and acted like it was his fault she was doing it. He had begged her to tell him what had turned her so sour towards him but she had just sputtered and spat awful curses at him while dashing off. He had never told anyone, he wouldn’t do that to her despite everything, but it still rubbed at him like salt on a wound every time he met her eye.

And now he was using her for his plan. Maybe he wasn’t as guiltless as he thought.

Bilbo sighed. If all went right...Lobelia will have spread the word about sneaky dwarves lurking menacingly around the Shire, and every able mouth will be flapping about it until after the sun goes down.

“Bibo?” a small voice whispered, and Bilbo snapped his head down to see the dwarflings crouched behind his study archway, pale and staring. Bilbo nearly palmed himself in the forehead for forgetting even for a moment that they were there, and immediately padded over to them.

“Sorry about that,” he said quietly, leaning down on his knees. “Just part of my plan?”

“Who- who that?” Kee whispered, looking thoroughly haunted by Lobelia’s presence, and his brother was a mirror at his side. Bilbo had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling at their open horror, and shook his head and planted a hand on Fee’s shoulder.

"She’s just...an old acquaintance of mine. She’ll not be coming back any time soon, alright?”

Fee and Kee visibly deflated in relief, little puffs of air coming from their lips, and Bilbo had to restrain himself from laughing again. “Now, c’mon, you two. Didn’t I say I had something to show you?” He scooped up Kee, tucking him comfortably into the crook of his arm, and took Fili by his little hand. He didn’t bother getting them back into their old boots, because shoes would only make them more conspicuous. Their feet were tiny and hairless, completely distinct from hobbit fauntling feet, but with Kee in Bilbo’s arms and Fee’s feet in squishy ground it wouldn’t be as noticeable-- so without further ado, he lead the two dwarflings to the door.

“Master Fili, Master Kili...It is with the deepest honor and pride that I present to you the emerald hills of the Shire.”

Bilbo beamed and spread his hands, eyes merry beneath the sunlight.

“My home.”

///

Fee and Kee fell in love at first sight. Bilbo knew it, he could see it in their eyes. They shrank to his side the second they stepped out of Bag End, clinging to him as tightly as they could whenever stranger hobbits would walk by or surprised eyes found them in the crowd, but whenever unwatched they would come alive, looking around the bright and joyous Shire with wonder in their eyes, making no sound but soft ‘oohs’ and drinking in the rolling hills of green and the grass covered smials like they were something amazing and unbelievable.

Bilbo knew that look in their eyes too well. The marvel of the warm and sweet Shire as its warmth seeped into one’s bones like liquid sunlight, light and ever bright like rays of gold breaking through the clouds. He knew it because he felt it too. He had been confined in Bag End so long he’d forgotten what the sun’s rays felt like, how the grass felt beneath his feet- soft and slightly warm, barely wet with and fragrant of fresh morning dew-- and Bilbo Baggins fell in love all over again.

The looks the trio got from the other hobbits, walking down the street, were...innumerable. Lobelia’s ever-wagging tongue had already done part of its work, and some hobbits stared at Bilbo namely as he walked by only to double take and gawk at the sight of the younglings. Everywhere they turned they were met with the full force of hobbit curiosity and suspicion, blazing shamelessly in every pair of staring eyes. Kee, Fee, and Bilbo were faced with the most surprised looks the hobbits of the Shire could muster, but they walked on unhindered. The young Baggins was, unfortunately, all too familiar with the searching and often penetrating gazes of Shirefolk, and he was hardly surprised to take the brunt of it once again, especially this time. But, despite its inevitability, he wished he could spare the dwarflings of it.

Hobbits really were too nosy for their own good.

Fili’s hand was stuck tight to Bilbo’s as if Bilbo had even the slightest chance of losing him in the lively bustle of awakening Hobbiton, and Kili buried himself further into the bend of Bilbo’s arm as though he could hide from the stares of the other hobbits. But every once in a while giggling children would dart across their path or laugh with each other in the loamy dirt and splash in puddles, and the dwarflings would perk up and stare with open awe.

Despite the looks he received, Bilbo beamed like a fauntling at Yuletide; it seemed he was getting just the same amount of whispering and staring that the dwarflings were. He cared so little for it all that he just smiled wider at the thought.

“Ho, Master Bilbo!” a voice called from behind, and Bilbo paused and turned to see none other than Hamfast Gamgee waving grandly at him, his smile merry and friendly. He approached the three of them cheerfully, his blonde curls bouncing with each lighthearted step, and when he reached them his blue eyes widened in incredulity.

“Hamfast!” Bilbo greeted with the same exuberance, his smile a tad cautious. He had fully intended to meet with his loyal gardner and dear friend soon, but he hadn’t anticipated running into him in town this morning-- and neither had his plan. No doubt he had wanted to speak with him about Lobelia’s rumors, but the little part about the dwarflings he’d left out of his ‘secret’ with his old friend.

“How do you fare, my dear friend? It’s been a time since I saw you last.”

The hobbit gardener blinked for a moment, his grin faltering with surprise as they took in the sight of his friend with two childlings in his grasp, before picking up again with blinding friendliness.

“Indeed, it has, Master Bilbo,” he says slowly, questions twinkling honestly in his eyes. “I’m faring well, as is me wife and babe, and I must say it does me heart good to see ya smiling again.” He met Bilbo’s eyes and the young Baggins felt the edges of his lips lift at the amity in his friend’s gaze.

“Thank you very kindly, Hamfast,” he says, softly.

Hamfast beamed, soon shifting his gaze to the younglings at his arm and leg.

“And who, may I ask, are these strong young lads?”

He stooped down to Fee, his smile as kind as you like, and Bilbo had never felt so grateful. Fili clutched Bilbo’s pant leg, his little hands fisting in the brown fabric, but Hamfast grinned when he bashfully mumbled a small, timid, “hewwo”.

“Hello there,” he said gently. “Hamfast Gamgee, pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

He gave an exaggerated bow, looking as humble as one could muster, and Fili stifled a giggle.

“Fi...li,” he whispered, bobbing his head in a little bow. “At your...serfice.”

“Ah, and what a little gentleman you are!” Hamfast said, pleased. “At yours and your family’s, Master Fili.” He straightened and found a small pair of brown orbs blinking owlishly at him. “Hello to you as well, little lad.”

Kee blinked again, staring at Hamfast for a silent moment, before spouting out a loud, “Kee, serfice!” and burrowing his head into Bilbo’s side again.

The two hobbits chuckled and Hamfast’s tone was sincere when he said, “Fine pair of lads you have here, Master Bilbo. Are they-” Hamfast paused for a beat, clearing his throat as subtly as he can, “-are they yours?”

Bilbo blushed a deep red, quickly shaking his head, and watched as greater confusion flickered in his gardener’s eyes. He had expected such a question, but to hear it was still...well. Being holed up for a bit didn’t make him any less of a hobbit, and spontaneously fathering children with unknown lasses was too scandalous for even Bilbo.

“I’ve a bit of a tale to tell you, Hamfast, if you’ll hear it,” Bilbo said, almost sheepishly, and the gardener inclined his head with a curious grin. “And I have to say...” He paused, looking at the little Fee and Kee. “...it’s a bit of an adventure.”

Hamfast smiled then, and slowly nodded. His gaze flitted from Bilbo to the younglings staring unabashedly up at him, and he chuckled in wonderment. “I can imagine. You always had a knack for excitement, didn’t you, Master Bilbo?”

Bilbo returned the chuckle and shook his head fondly. “Dear Hamfast...you don’t know the half of it.”

///

“That was a mighty tale, my young cousin,” Fortinbras Took intoned, leaning back in his seat behind the grand table. His eyes were bright with contemplation as they took in the sight of the dwarflings in Bilbo’s lap, calculating and illuminated with thought. “And from what I can understand, the excitement isn’t over yet.” The light in the Thain’s grey gaze dimmed slightly as worry creased his brow.

“Dwarfling kidnappers,” he grunted, shaking his head with disbelief. “That is concerning news indeed. I can’t for the life of me imagine what those dwarven riders were doing so far from the Lonely Mountain.  There hasn’t been dwarves in the Shire for centuries.”

Bilbo shook his head from his own bench across the table, as hopelessly confused as the Thain. There was no strategic reason for the mercenaries to have brought the dwarflings on such a long journey to the Shire, other than to get as far away from the Lonely Mountain as possible. He sighed, tightening his grip subconsciously on the dozing dwarflings in his lap-- whom had started to drift halfway into Bilbo’s story. “Neither can I. But...do you think my plan will work? Would you be able to help me get them home?”

The hobbit Thain’s gaze quickly softened, his pale eyes warm. “Certainly, dear Bilbo, certainly. You have your mother’s wit and your father’s stubbornness; it’s remarkable in of itself that you were able to even think with this thrust so quickly upon you. Not many hobbits would have been brave enough to care for them so long under such dangers, Master Baggins, and I must say I am mightily impressed.” Bilbo’s face burst into flame, color bursting behind his cheeks at such praise, and Fortinbras smiled, the laugh lines on his face folding amicably.

“As for involving Miss Lobelia in such away, that was a strike of pure ingenuity. Very shrewd, Master Bilbo, very shrewd.” He winked and Bilbo resisted the urge to look bashfully at the ground.

The Thain cleared his throat and sat up in his tall wooden chair. Bilbo was reminded of Fortinbras’s status once again as his eyes assumed a cold, dignified light and his shoulders straightened with authority. “I will alert the Master of Buckland and the Mayor, at once,” he said, shifting his jaw. “I’ll set the Shiriffs on rounds nightly until the dwarves are located, and notify the outer smials to keep their dogs out at night. Contacting the Riders to apprehend them should be no problem at all, either, Bree is but a day or two’s good ride from here. Those dwarves might have a harder time with a Rider of the North than with one of our own,” he said, unashamedly. He almost sounded pleased at the prospect. “If they’re spotted we’ll immediately send word to you and send a few hobbits to Bag End for your protection.” Fortinbras’s professional guise was dropped like an unwanted winter cloak and he smiled gently at the three sitting at the bench in front of him. His voice was kind when he added, “You needn't worry about thing from now on, dear cousin.”

Bilbo felt faint with relief and gratitude. He could hardly believe that his plan would carry out so smoothly; this was better than he ever could have hoped. The dark shadow in his mind that held most of his fears for the dwarflings evaporated in a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, billowing from his lungs in a gust. He spared a glance at the sleepy, still dwarflings on his lap. Kee was curled in the crook of Bilbo’s arm while Fee had clambered up on the hobbit’s legs, curling up like a sleeping kitten next to his younger brother. They hadn’t said a word since entering the Great Hall hours ago, and he swallowed at the thought of their own worry as they’d met the elder, respected Fortinbras Took, cousin to Bilbo and Thain of the Shire. They had greeted him with about as much success as Hamfast, who’d reacted similarly Bilbo’s own retelling of the story and had rushed off to go find his wife and tell her the news. To be truthful, Bilbo had no idea how Fee and Kili were feeling right now. It wouldn’t have surprised him if they were afraid of every single hobbit they had seen, every stranger who made them cling to Bilbo with their tiny hands digging into his jacket almost pleadingly. As deeply guilty as that made the young hobbit feel, he needed the dwarflings to realize that the hobbits of the Shire meant them no harm, and that they would be safe with Bilbo here. They couldn’t be petrified of the world forever, much as they had the right, and they couldn’t live on thinking that every one they saw would try to take them away from Bilbo.

 _I would never let that happen,_ he thought strongly, in the grips of iron certainty. He can’t imagine what had happened to the younglings, what they had endured in the months they’d been held in captivity. They hadn’t been properly cared for or taught, nor well-fed or well-treated. They had been mere objects, packages to the dwarves, parcels to be used or ransomed. That alone filled Bilbo with a foreign flame of rage. He was no fool, and Bilbo remembered that night two days ago in the rain. He remembered the message of treasure, of payment. Kili and Fili had to be from a wealthy family, there was no other explanation for why they could have been taken from their home. Erebor was a massive city, the kingdom of the dwarves, there would be no lack of wealthy or powerful families to ransom from.

“And what of word to Erebor?” the young Baggins asked, reminded, his tone respectfully timid.

“Of course, of course,” Fortinbras replied, waving a hand as if at a fly. He recentered his gaze on Bilbo’s and suddenly the young hobbit was reminded so strongly of Bungo that he looked away, a lump forming in his throat. The Thain continued, his voice slightly rough and distanced. “We will send word out too with a Ranger to an aviary, as soon as possible.” The older hobbit paused, his voice dipping low. “You did honorably by these dwarflings, Bilbo. Your parents...they would be very proud of you.”

Bilbo swallowed harshly, ignoring the painful squeeze his heart gave. He met the Thain’s pale grey eyes and bowed his curly head, both out of respect and to keep his expression hidden. “Thank you, Master Thain.”

Fortinbras chuckled, but it was a creaky thing, tinged with a watery sadness. “Dispose of the formalities, dear Bilbo, we’re cousins and I’ve no need of them.” He sighed, looking for a moment around his Great Hall with something unspoken in his aging eyes; he seemed older than before, layered with a weight of sadness. “As much as I would enjoy a talk and a pipe of Old Toby with you, young cousin, it looks like you should be heading towards home.” He gestured gently with a weathered hand to Bilbo’s lap, where the dwarflings softly dozed. Bilbo nodded, the constriction of his throat lessening as his heart softened, and he gathered them securely in his arms.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet and heavy with no small measure of gratitude. He met Fortinbras’s gaze again and smiled softly.

“Bilbo, this is but the very least I could do. Even if I had the heart to deny your request, no one could dare hold up against those two young lads there. Even cuter than you were as a babe, sorry, lad, but it’s true.” Bilbo blushed again, chuckling under his breath even as the Thain continued. “On my word I will do all in my power to help return them home.”

Bilbo was nearly swept away with affection and gratitude as the Thain got to his feet, coming around to his side of the table to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He had not been shown this much open affection since- today, after Hamfast and now with Fortinbras, he was starting to remember there had been more to his life than his parents. And as much as it hurt to lose them...there were still others who cared about him. It was a revelation that made his heart feel fit to burst.

He swallowed, looking down at the dwarflings in his lap, and smiled softly to himself as they sighed softly and burrowed deeper into the folds of his jacket.

_With others to care about._

Fortinbras spoke again, capturing the young hobbit’s attention. “If not for them, then for the fact that you’re finally smiling again, young cousin.”

Bilbo flushed, his lips tipping to the side and his blue eyes sparking. “Thank you,” he said yet again, scooping the little ones up in a more secure grasp as he got to his feet. The Thain took a step back, leaning a bit on a small oak cane.

“Take care, lad. Of the boys, but of yourself as well. We lost your father, and your mother.” His grey eyes glistened and echoing sorrow flitted across his face. “And for a while...We’ll not lose you too, Bilbo.” Bilbo felt his throat close up with emotion, eyes glistening as they lined with tears, and he nodded.

“I’ll try.” Bilbo gave a watery smile, feeling his lip tremble for a moment. “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. It’s the best I can do. G’wan, now, get those little bairns into bed.”

Bilbo’s smile grew steadier. And then he left, cradling two dwarflings in his arms as though born for it.

**end chapter five**


	6. tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tidings, fond and grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, hello guys. Still piddling around the internet, as you can see! Busy year, how about you all? I went ahead and rewrote every preceding chapter, got rid of a great deal of wordiness, and that was plenty inspiration! Here's some Gamgee-Baggins fluff, and plottiness.

**chapter five**

**tidings**

“Come in, come in, it is a pleasure to see you all!” The Master of Bag End ushered in his guests with the grace of royalty, extending exaggerated arms and gestures of welcome as they passed through his home’s round green door. His mouth stretched in the broadest of smiles, and the Gamgee family couldn't help but note the light that seemed to glow from their recently somber and reclusive host. Hamfast, who had come for dinner at Bilbo’s invitation, had brought along his lovely family of three, and they returned in equal measure their host’s joviality.

The Gaffer himself stepped into Bag End first, a cheery grin to match Bilbo’s swept over his humble features. “Halloa, Master Bilbo,” he greeted, relishing the feel of the warm, pleasantly scented Bag End. If Bilbo’s happiness was not reward enough, the anticipation of his marvelous cooking was a fine replacement. “It does me heart good to see you in such good spirits. Your beautiful home looks even better for it.”

Bilbo’s eyes were lit with an eagerness of the old times. “Hallo, Hamfast, and it does mine too, thank you! Your family looks more lovely every day.” He smiled even wider when Hamfast’s wife, Bell, came in behind him, her swollen belly announcing clearly that said family was still growing. “Dear Bell. You look radiant.”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Bell replied softly, smiling indulgently as she folded a small hand over her prevalent stomach. “You look...so very bright. How are you?” Bilbo nearly blushed as Bell’s lush brown eyes bloomed with the fondness of a mother, and he replied with a soft, pleased honesty.

“I am well,” he said, eyes crinkling with the knowledge that he meant it. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.” Bell nodded, almost too knowingly, and Bilbo’s cheeks turned a bashful pink. Hamfast chuckled, reminded too strongly of himself when his eldest daughter Petunia was first born.

“Hello Master Bilbo!”

Bilbo blinked and grinned at the small, excited bell-chime of a voice. His eyes flicked behind the smiling Bell to see two young forms perched behind her, honey sweet in their pink and yellow party dresses. He beamed at Nellie and Petunia, Hamfast’s young daughters, and squatted down to his knees.

“And who are these lovely lasses?” he asked, confusion layering thick his voice. Petunia grinned and bounced on her heels while her little sister covered her mouth with her tiny hands, stifling a giggle. “I did not expect the presence of such beautiful young ladies, forgive my ill-preparedness. I’m afraid you’ll have to entertain an old codger like me at dinner tonight. I suppose the two of you are much too old now for stories and tales and other childish things, aren’t you?” He carefully folded his expression into one of acceptance and veiled disappointment. The look of horror that spread across the two young fauntlings faces was almost too much. Nellie opened her mouth to say something, expression panicked, but Petunia spoke up quickly.

“Ah, no, Master Bilbo. I...I believe stories will be accep- acceptable entertainment for tonight.” She folded her hands delicately across her chest in what she believed was a proper stance for a young lady hobbit.

“Are you sure? I’m sure they aren’t as interesting as flowers or dances...or dancing partners.” He winked, watching Petunia turn a light pink and Nell blink in confusion. Bell’s resultant snicker told him that Hamfast’s expression was the latter's mirrored reflection.

“Yes,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady. Nellie nodded eagerly, and Bilbo smiled, getting back to his feet. “Very well. I thank you for your tolerance, dear ladies. I will do my best to entertain.” He bowed grandly and watched them giggle with no small amount of his own amusement. Their parents stood behind them, quietly overjoyed to see the Master Baggins in such high spirits. Hamfast nudged his wife with a _see?_ look on his face, and she shook her head and chuckled.

“Now, before dinner can start...I believe there are some introductions to be made.”

Hamfast nodded knowingly and Bell's answering smile was soft and genuine, but the concern in her eyes was palpable. She had heard her husband’s tale of the two young wards that Bilbo had taken into his care nearly a week ago, and every motherly urge in her had surged in a mixture of horror and outrage, and ultimately gratitude. The idea that someone-- anyone-- could do something so wretched to younglings was unfathomable, and she admittedly had some doubts about whether the lonely, depressed young Master of Bag End would be the best caretaker for traumatized children. But seeing him now...she wondered if there could have been anyone else better suited.

They followed Bilbo further into his toasty hobbit hole to the den, where the fire crackled merrily in the hearth and the enticing aroma of dinner from the neighboring kitchen grew delectably stronger. Bilbo hurried over to a corner in the den and stooped, slowly gesturing towards them as the Gamgees filed in behind, respectfully cautious.

"Fee, Kee?” he asked, and his voice was incomparably gentle. Bell could feel the kindness well in her host from across the room with all the intuitive instinct of a mother, and felt her faith in Bilbo Baggins grow all the stronger inside her heart. She watched as his voice filled with a doting, soft compassion, the same that she often heard spilled into her husband’s as he played with their daughters, and a sense of rightness flooded her at the sight of the young Master Baggins perching over two small, obscured forms.

“I would like you to meet some very close friends of mine," he said, quietly encouraging. "They’re very nice hobbits, and they’re going to have dinner with us. That’s alright, isn’t it?” There was an unseen nod from his wards, and Bilbo's answering smile was brighter than sunlight.

"Okay, then." Their host then turned to look at Hamfast and Bell, and as he tilted Bell could finally see the two little guests plainly.

Yavanna’s sake. They were _adorable._

The two dwarflings were tiny and pale, with soft, fuzzy hair that came down past their shoulders. One was golden blond and taller than the other, with teal trousers and suspenders over a white wool shirt, and his blue eyes were oddly stony and withdrawn. The brunet hobbit was _minuscule_ , and his downy hair fluffed up into the air like dandelion seeds, his yellow trouser-suspender ensemble only serving to enhance his utter _cuteness._

“Oh, heavens, Bilbo,” Bell whispered, unable to contain herself. “They’re _precious.”_

Bilbo’s smile curled in complete agreement.

“Hewwo,” the smaller one whispered, waving his little hand, and Bell nearly turned to goo.

Bilbo only continued to beam.

“Hello there,” she whispered back, waving softly, and the blond one seemed to perceptibly soften as he looked at her. Hamfast, smiling, waved too, and barest mistrust shifted behind those dusted blue eyes once again. Bell felt a fleeting, uncharacteristic flash of rage in her heart towards whoever had dared harm these little treasures before stepping forward, bowing as much as her impregnated stomach would allow.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Masters Fee and Kee.” Her blue-green eyes twinkled with mischief. “My name is Bell Gamgree. This is my husband, Hamfast, and my daughters,” Nellie and Petunia shuffled awkwardly into view, their eyes locked on the small dwarflings with a sparking wonder, “- Petunia and Nellie.”

“Hi!” Nellie and Petunia chorused excitedly, and Fee watched with apprehension as Kee’s face split in a beautiful smile.

“I Kee!” he burbled, proudly gesturing to himself. “Dis Fee!” He waved again, flapping his hand around like a demented bird, and Bilbo chuckled warmly. Bell met his eyes and she beamed in approval, mouthing a clear _‘They’re lovely.’_

 _'I know’,_ Bilbo returned fondly, and she watched as Bilbo instinctively took Fee’s hand upon noticing the dwarfling’s discomfort. Fee immediately looked soothed and relieved, and Kee toddled forward after an acquiescing and encouraging smile from Bilbo and a steady blink from his brother, who latched onto the hobbit like an appendage. He huffed and huffed, practically waddling forward, and met up with the Gamgees with a pearly-toothed grin.

“Hihi,” he puffed with a giggle, and Petunia smiled so wide it looked like her little face would split in two. Kili grinned blindingly in response, his eyes bright and giddy with unbridled joy.

“He’s so cute,” Nellie whispered, eyes darting around as if unsure she should mention it. Her parents chuckled with amusement, and Kee lurched forward in a sloppy, unbalanced bow in front of the fauntling girls.

“A’serfice,” he bubbled out, eyes glittering like little stars above his tiny, sharp nose. Bilbo straightened with unconscious pride, and Hamfast winked at the grinning Bell.

“Well met, Master Kee,” Petunia replied, a blush coloring her cheeks as she threw back her blonde curls like a proper hobbit dame, and Nellie stifled her giggles behind her hands.

“I believe you’ve a charmer on your hands, Bilbo,” Hamfast crowed, chuckling in approval, and Bilbo laughed and nodded in agreement.

“I’m afraid so, Hamfast.” He smiled, lips tipping upwards, and lifted the other dwarfling into his arms, who addressed the Gamgee family with a little less fervor.

“At your serfice,” he said quietly, burrowing into Bilbo, and the hobbit smiled down proudly at him after giving the Gamgees an apologetic look. They looked on in unburdened sympathy, and Bell inclined her curly head.

“As we are at yours, Master Fee,” she said, tone mothering and sweet. Fee’s eyes flickered to her, blue stones warming, and a small smile graced his face in a flicker of childlike friendliness. The smile soon disappeared, however, taking the ghost of happiness in his eyes away like a winter wind. Hamfast and Bell shared a concerned look, and Bilbo cleared his throat while curling his arm around the dwarfling in comfort, patting and combing his soft blond hair soothingly.

“I hope you’re all hungry,” he said, as Fee slowly seemed to return to life in his doting arms. “I’ve made enough food for a whole party of dwarves; these two have rekindled my love of cooking, it seems. I’m afraid I might have made too much.”

“Too much, Master Bilbo!” Hamfast rumbled out, a measure too loud to steer conversation. “Why, I never thought I’d see the day!” The Gaffer’s eyes sparkled, and his stomach rumbled with impressive volume at the mere thought of dinner. However, his pleased words were almost drowned out by a shockingly loud cry splitting the companionable quiet of the hobbit hole. The dwarfling at their feet had come alive, a remarkable bellow of “FOODDD!” echoing from his tiny lungs, and suddenly he was run-toddling towards the dining room as fast as his little legs could carry him. The adults roared with laughter and Bilbo instantly switched into play. He rushed after the little rabbit of a dwarf immediately with Fee giggling madly in his arms, Kee squealing with delight as the hobbit charged after him. The Gamgee parents watched the gleeful play between the dwarflings and their host with a growing sense of warmth and near incredulity. It was almost like the Bilbo from these last eight months had never existed, and as they watched the hobbit chase and play it seemed almost miraculous.

Hamfast met his wife’s gaze of relief and happiness and winked roguishly. “Shall we dine, my dear?” he asked, extending a hand towards his smiling wife, and Bell fondly rolled her eyes and took his hand.

“But of course, my darling husband,” she said, playing along, and they beamed at each other with the surmount of young, budding love that bloomed ever stronger with their growing family, and watched as Bilbo used Fee as a giant, giggling claw to reach for the squawking Kee. They chuckled and squeezed each other’s hands, taking their children and joining their hosts in the dining room.

It was going to be a lovely dinner.

///

It was, in fact, the loveliest dinner Bilbo had ever had the pleasure of hosting.

The food-- a palate of his best cakes, smoked meat, buttered potatoes and vegetables, assorted baked breads, and plethora of soups and cheeses-- was simple but delicious, if he did say so himself, and his company was just as wonderful. It had been a long time since he’d sat down among friends, and an even longer time since he’d enjoyed himself with them, and Bell and Hamfast were the grandest friends he could have asked for. Bell was funny and bright, the firebrand to Hamfast’s easy-going and jovial disposition, and it was her constant teasing of him that had made the night such an entertainment. It was even funnier that her marriage to Hamfast had, at length, made her more stubborn and fiery than ever. Hamfast was simply at a loss for her, and with every tease and good hearted belittlement Bell threw his way he fell even more in love; Bilbo himself couldn’t help but laugh as Bell went into depth in every single humiliating story she had in store concerning Hamfast and how he dealt with fatherhood and a pregnant wife at home, and Bilbo couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard-- and all at Hamfast’s expense, nevertheless.

It was brilliant, and it made Bilbo feel like a young Hobbit again.

The best part of the night, however, had to be left up to Nellie. She’d been reaching for the bowl of gravy with a little less grace than was necessary for the act and in the process of bringing it over to her plate, she had managed to tip it off balance and spill it all over her neighbor-- who happened to be the quiet and awkward Fee, whom hadn’t spoken but two words since the party began. The Gamgees had immediately roared with laughter, Petunia and Bilbo sharing stifled giggles, and Fee had blinked owlishly at the stuttering, teary Nellie for a solid minute before his face scrunched up and turned pink, and the dwarfling had suddenly bursted into a wild fit of giggles, his face scrunching up as he nearly toppled headfirst into his potatoes. Bilbo had amusedly wiped the gravy off with a towel with a free hand while bouncing a gurgling Kee in the other, who was giggling over a cracker in approval at the sight of his brother losing it over gravy. Nellie had spent the rest of the night apologizing, and Fee had noticeably warmed to the Gamgees after that. The night had ended amicably with no shortage of Bilbo’s famous cakes, and the Gamgee family had left with gratefully full bellies and cheery grins. Bilbo had invited them over for dinner the next week, something he was now immeasurably looking forward to, and Fee had passed out not long after that, his brother long since folded up and snoozing in the crook of Bilbo’s arm.

Days had gone by so swiftly now, lost in a haze of laughter and planning. Fortinbras had successfully sent out a rider and alerted the Shirriffs, and there were patrols circling Bag End once a night. He had reconnected with his Took cousins, whom had sent overwhelming piles of clothes and presents for the boys upon hearing of them, and a few more had been received from the ever expanding Brandybuck family in Buckland-- all of them sent messages too, excited to meet with Bilbo for Mayor Minto's upcoming birthday. All around, he was receiving support from his fellow hobbits, or at least, from those who mattered. Lobelia, for one, had been seen skulking about with intention to chew Bilbo out for his impropriety, surely, but Bilbo had done his very best to keep the boys from her, and had managed to turn tail and hide from the stalking Bracegirdle lass in town by ducking into passing shops. Kee and Fee, while still unerringly shy, had become gossip famous in the Shire, and couldn't make an appearance without someone coming up to them and saying hello (with different measures of cordiality).  

His fears had been pushed aside by prospects. He'd sent Hamfast out a few days before to fetch literature on Erebor and dwarven culture, and took Fee and Kee to get boots made from the only cobbler in all of the Shire, who'd come down all the way from Michel Delving to place an order for six pairs of dwarf shoes. Needless to say, he'd been thrilled with the business. On a more serious note, Bilbo had become sorting through his parents' things when he had the time. Within his mother's hope chest, he'd found a wrapped parcel, with an attached note:

_Dearest Bilbo,_

_For when you find yourself in a bit of a pinch (or pickle), and need a good stick for poking your way out._

_Your loving mother,_

_Belladonna_

Within the package was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen. Perfectly balanced and matched to his height, it was a seamless silver blade, etched lovingly with distinctive Elvish ivy along its broadsides, and it glistened in the candlelight like a thread of finest mithril. It was elegant, beautiful, and impossible.

"My word," he had whispered, awestruck, before quickly wrapping it up before the boys could see. How had his mother come by such a thing? His father had often mumbled about her adventurous side-- whenever Belladonna wasn't within reach to smack him with a spatula-- but he'd always thought of it as youthful escapades to Bree or dancing the Took Traverse at parties, never something like this! He had stowed the sword carefully back into his mother's hope chest, and slid it beside Bag End's front door-- just within easy reach, but how it had spun in his mind, hours afterwards.

Other than that, life had been blissful.

The young Baggins had tucked the dwarflings in that night with no less than a beaming heart, and already, his smile seemed nuanced, set perfectly in place for happiness. Even as he drifted off he didn’t quite realize just how gone he was for the two of them, how much he had rebuilt his life around him. Even his very breathing was different: it was lighter, easier, and all the more free, all because Fee and Kee were there.

He fell asleep every night with the chorus of their soft breathing in his ears, oblivious to the unanswered questions that still plagued him, and his sleep was often dreamless.

He had found himself perfectly, unbelievably happy.

///

_the outskirts of Bree_

“Bleeding _Mahal,”_   Marvo spat, red spittle flying from his mouth, and the dwarf above him whirled a second time, his fist slamming into the side of his jaw. The other dwarf’s head snapped back, the crack echoing through the secluded forest camp, and Drada snarled where he stood, fist tensing at his side where his dagger was sheathed.

“And why not?” Drada growled, stilling as their leader turned to look at him. Black eyes burned him, but wounded pride overshadowed the fear in his gut. “It was your fool brother that lost ‘em, he should be the one t’go get them back!”

There was a beat of vibrating silence, and Drada tensed his shoulders. The dwarf standing over Marvo turned like a marble pillar, leveling Drada with a bruising black gaze, and slowly stepped once forward. Marvo had the sense to stay silent where he lay, knee buried in dead leaves, and the dwarf towering above him loomed in shadow, blood staining his knuckles.

“And who did I place in charge of watch?” Narrowed eyes flickered, venomous, and the dwarves shifted in depthless unease at the cool, collected tone of their leader's voice. The forest was sinister in the dark, eerily silent, and Taroc’s words seethed around them. “Not my brother, Drada, son of Drandun.”

Skulking behind his brother's cutting gaze, Karoc sneered.

“Aye, but it was Karoc who let the runts slip off!” Drada’s voice had lost some of its gall in sight of the pale tightening of Taroc’s painted knuckles, and he hung a quivering distance between himself and their leader with wise, instinctive fearfulness. “We-”

“If anyone will be risk going back into that pathetic halfling hovel, it will be you.” The dwarf leader bared his teeth, a soulless peal of white behind a dark, jagged beard; his voice was smooth, and eerily seamless. “Halflings are under the protection of the Riders of the North and the Elves both.” His voice curdled with disgust, before slipping back into steadiness. “If one of them turns up dead because they have seen you, you will bring the whole of Rivendell down upon on your hanged head-- and risk word reaching Erebor. I’ll not send my little brother to face a Rider’s blade, nor will I risk alerting any of those tree-shagging fools.”

“How’re we supposed to get them back then? Ask nicely?” Drada tread dangerous waters with wavering gusto. “And since when’d you get so knowledgeable about the halflin’s?”

Menace flooded down Taroc’s broad shoulders, coiling like a patient viper. “Since I had the brains to take them through here, you simpering fool,” he said, measuring his voice with a calm, careful pace. It shivered with dark intelligence, predatory, leading. “We didn’t take those pathetic bundles of joy only to be caught and hanged from the steps of Durin; my plan was drawn in detail. How do you think we got away from Erebor, luck? It was because I made a seamless plan, and executed it perfectly.” His speech deepened with a proud flame, before steadying back into threading, cold tandem. “We came here because those pitiful little idiots holed up in their homes don’t notice Orc dung if it’s flung into their faces, and can’t defend themselves from a tea-cozy. If we’re going to get the packages back, we need only to find whoever’s harboring them, and deal with it quietly. We must make it look like an accident-- it’ll be difficult, of course, but the river’s are high. Drowning, this time of year, is a far common fate for hobbits.” Taroc smiles genially, and Drada wrinkles his nose.

“And how do you suggest we find them? Send a letter?” 

Taroc's features marble under the shadow of farthing trees. “Well, I suggest you put your useless arse to work. Unless you prefer my backup plan.”

“What’s the backup plan?" Karoc asked, speaking up for the first time, and Taroc’s darkness immediately lessened. He turned to his brother, fiery gaze cooling, and Karoc lifted his lip in a cruel, sloppy grin.

“Why, the taking of Hobbiton, dear brother.”

“The _wot?_ ” Drada demanded, stunned. “The entire bloody village?”

“Didn’t you hear me, simpleton?” Taroc started forward, fury swelling through shattering composure, and Drada raised his hands in deference. “The halflings are defenseless and pathetic-- it’d be like taking over a rabbit farm! Holding the entire village hostage is guaranteed to keep us safe until we get the packages back, and by the time the Elves figure it out, we’ll have their entire precious village corralled. There won’t be a hand raised against us if we take the village, the halflings are worth too much to them. Getting away will be simple...if not messy.” Taroc grinned, and it was a foul thing. “By the time we leave, there won’t be any witnesses who’ll speak of the packages to anyone. Our trail will vanish...and Erebor won’t be alerted. But that is the backup plan, and a bit more...complicated than necessary, wouldn’t you agree?” His lip tipped up in a facsimile of democracy, and the three dwarves slowly nodded their agreement.

“Good. Our first priority is locating the packages...and dealing with their caretakers. Unless, I suppose...you lot have any more questions.”

He smiled, directly at Drada, and the latter grit his teeth, biting his tongue obediently. The dwarves fell into resounding, self-preserving silence.

"Excellent," Taroc purred. Drada's nostrils flared. 

“What do we do first, boss?” Marvo asked, garbled thanks to his bleeding jaw. He grunted, moving to his feet and falling into order, and Drada turned away with the barest hint of disgust. Their leader opened his mouth decisively, already poised to deliver their orders, but he paused as the quiet forest around them began to shift with approaching movement.

Drada hissed, pulling forth his dagger, and Marvo spat onto the ground, hand seeking his axe.

Their leader stilled. "Wait," Taroc growled, holding up a hand.

They paused, restless, hands on their weapons. The forest around them stirred, growing louder with the distant sound of a galloping horse, and Taroc shifted, calculating, sharp black eyes narrowing to slits. Through the darkened forest, there was the flicker of a cloaked rider through the trees, heading east.

He smiled a grin of black ice.

“Mount your horses.”

**end chapter six**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehe, i'm rather crap at suspense, but here you go. as for the next chapter, well, spoilers, but...we get a little bit of Unkin. :D


End file.
